


Salvage/Recover/Repeat

by drulas



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drulas/pseuds/drulas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon and Kieren are adjusting to life as a couple. They're doing the normal things like trying to have nights out and coping with sharing a bedroom at the Walkers' home. Simon's brooding nature makes it easy for him to keep secrets, secrets that Kieren is determined to uncover.</p><p>Music plays quite an important role in this work. You can find a  Spotify playlist for Salvage/Recover/Repeat <a href="http://open.spotify.com/user/drusillamac/playlist/4u5NigCUzBZOJ6wiQgobgC">here</a>.</p><p>Disclaimer: The characters represented here belong to Dominic Mitchell. I am merely borrowing the fantastic world he has created to indulge in my own love for this series :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place post-Amy's funeral and unravels the relationship between Kieren and Simon. I hope to make this the start of a longer story to keep me going until Series 3 is commissioned (fingers crossed!).

The last thing Kieren’s mum had said as she handed over the keys was “I know Simon’s a good boy. He’ll drive carefully.” 

He hoped the car was not fitted with a camera, hidden and poised over the dashboard. Keiren watched as the speedometer crept closer and closer to 70. Beams of light bounced off the darkness that swamped around the car. The deep blackness of the countryside reminded him of being buried. Kieren’s hand gripped the passenger door handle. His knuckles bulged and looked whiter than usual. 

Simon was having the time of his life. He whooped as the car sped over bumps in the road. Kieren could see happiness dancing in his eyes at each bend and dip of the car. ‘Si, shouldn’t you slow down? My mum will go nuts if anything happens to it.’

‘Relax Kieren! I learned to drive on country roads like these. Sometimes we’d drive along without headlights.’ 

‘No, please, don’t….’

Simon clicked the toggle at the side of the steering wheel and the darkness swept over them. Keiren swallowed and said nothing. He knew by now that complaining would only goad Simon on. Better to stay quiet than make things worse. 

Kieren could just about see the pale skin of his hands, peeking out from under his new blazer, in the gloom. He had ordered it online from Topman, thanks to his mum. PDS sufferers were still not allowed to open bank accounts but Mum would let him borrow her credit card, now and again. ‘Don’t tell Dad,’ she would whisper as she handed it over to him. 

PDS sufferers were also not allowed to learn how to drive. However, in a strange bureaucratic quirk, PDS sufferers who had passed their test before their date of death were allowed to re-apply for their license. ‘Probably some scam to make us all work as night drivers,’ muttered Simon, when he heard the news. Keiren hid a smirk when he spotted the application form, sticking out from under Simon’s bedside table a week later. It didn’t take long before an examiner declared Simon fit to drive and issued him with a new blue (for PDS sufferers) coloured licence. 

Now they were off to their first night out alone - if they made it there before Simon wrapped the car around a tree. 

‘You’re very quiet there.’ Simon slowed the car down and dropped down into fourth gear. ‘That make you feel better?’ 

‘A bit.’

‘Ach, you’re no fun.’ Simon flicked the toggle and they were bathed in sharp glow of the headlights. 

‘Are you enjoying driving again?’

‘A bit. Nice to have the freedom. Pain in the arse re-taking my test again. How come you never took up driving?’

‘Had other things on my mind. Didn’t think I’d need to drive when I was dead.’

Simon chuckled. ‘Fair point. I bet you spent all your pocket money on booze and fags.’

‘Art supplies, actually. Mum would pick them up for me when she was in town.’

‘She’s a good mammy, your one.’ There was an edge to Simon’s voice, whenever he talked about mothers. Kieren knew his pain of what he had done to her and there was nothing he could do to make him feel better. Well, there were ways of taking his mind off it sometimes. Kieren shook his head. Not now, not while Simon was driving. 

‘Did you just shake your head?’

’N-no.’

‘You dirty lad. Been having naughty thoughts again?’

In a moment of misguided intimacy, Kieren had admitted his habit of shaking his head to get rid of certain mental images. Simon leapt on this information with glee and was constantly scrutinising Keir for the slightest head shake. 

Simon reached over and stroked Kieran’s knee. ‘Later, maybe later.’ His hand returned to the steering wheel. ‘I always wanted to see these guys when I was alive. Not missing them a second time around. No way. Here, take the wheel for a moment.’

‘W-what the actual hell?!’ Simon pulled Kieran’s hands over and slapped them on the smooth leather of the steering wheel. ‘Simon, this is crazy!’

‘Relax, I just need to change the CD.’ Simon pressed the button of the car stereo and out popped the CD. He slid it into the black carry case and eased another CD out of its plastic sleeve. ‘Perfect tunes to get us on the home stretch.’ He pushed the CD into the stereo and let it crunch for a few seconds. Then he reached up and patted Keiren’s hands. ‘Thanks mate. Good driving there.’  
Kieren fell back in his seat, a chemical compound replacement for adrenaline racing through his body. There was a pause of silence and then the car was filled with electric sound effects and a high pitched woman’s voice, crooning into a microphone. She sang of loneliness and of obsession which, eventually, lulled Keiren back into a state of calm. 

‘Here we go. The edge of civilisation - Manchester.’ Simon eased the car back down into third gear. Bright lights surrounded them on all sides of the road, personally guiding them to their next destination. 

Kieren flipped down the mirror, hidden in the panel above the passenger’s seat. His dark contact lenses stared back at him. Tonight his cover up mousse was lighter than usual - dark, dingy gig venues made it easy to hide your PDS. Simon, as usual, was refusing to blend in and had not worn his contact lenses or worn any cover up. He was wearing a black t-shirt and matching jeans, retrieved from the church’s jumble sale. How could someone look just so beautiful? Simon’s clothes looked as though they had been designed with him in mind, the cut made to flatter his tight body. 

Kieren looked down at his blazer and stripy t-shirt. ‘You look like an art student,’ Jem had snorted as they left the house tonight. Before Kieren could reply, Simon pulled him back and kissed him for a long time. As they drew apart, Jem shouted, ‘That’s disgusting! You’re only getting away with that because Mum and Dad are out.’ 

‘Little girls shouldn’t be jealous. Especially as we’re off to the big city tonight.’ Simon waggled her finger at Gem, which only served to make her face turn even more red. 

Gem glared at them and stomped off to the kitchen. Kieren could hear the biscuit tin lid rattling on the kitchen counter as they left. 

Now, as they drove closer to the city centre, Gem’s words came back to haunt him. Could he hold Simon’s hand walking down the street? Certainly not in Roarton - there was always someone peering out from behind net curtains. Perhaps Manchester might be different.


	2. Back in the Tall Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiren and Simon make it to the gig. But some questions are raised about Simon and some secrets he might be keeping hidden. 
> 
> Chapter 2 of Salvage/Recover/Repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All the work of Future Islands belongs to them - any descriptions of them are from my own imagination. After seeing them live a couple of weeks ago, I really wanted to feature them in this fan fic. I also borrowed the song they opened with as the title for this chapter (as I suck at thinking up chapter titles). Enjoy!

‘Are you sure you locked the car?’

Simon let out a hiss of annoyance. ‘I checked and double checked. You heard the lock popping up for God’s sake!’ 

Cars swished by them on the wet road. Unsurprisingly for Manchester it was pouring down with rain on this fine evening of freedom. Kieren had only been to Manchester twice before and had marvelled at the size of the city. Even now, he was filled with a child like awe of how tall the buildings were, their dazzling lights winding up into the sky. He paused for a moment, letting the noise and the lights and the hum of the city wrap itself around him - him, a Roarton boy, born and bred. 

‘What are you doing?’ Simon looked bored. Kieren forgot that he had lived on the outskirts of the city so going into Manchester had been a regular occurrence for him. The few times Simon talked about his previous life, Kieren leapt upon the stories and memorised every word, every description. He thought that Manchester would be familiar to him through these tales. Yet still it didn’t prepare him for how big everything was. 

‘Just drinking it all in. Enjoying this second chance.’ 

Sometimes the thoughts rushed over him, reminding him of those blurry days, feeling immense pain at the news of Rick’s first death. It was bad enough when he joined the army, knowing he could be sent anywhere on earth. Of course he was sent to one of the most dangerous places on the planet and there, the stupid boy in Kieren’s heart, he died. Then he came back and Kieren re-lived the pain all over again. He wished Rick was still here to help him. He didn’t think they could recover the childish fumblings of their teenage years but they could still have been friends. Would Rick and Simon have gotten on? He would never find out. 

Kieren sighed. His counsellor kept telling him that he needed to let go of the past. All this looking backwards meant he couldn’t see what was in front of him. An image of Amy flashed through his thoughts. She grinned and reached out saying, ‘Now then, let’s turn this frown upside down.’ Amy - another one of his friends given a new chance of life and now she was gone too. 

‘Keir?’ He felt Simon’s fingers brush his, that jolted Kieren back to reality. Simon stood in front of him, eyes full of concern. ‘Are you all right? Do you still want to go to the gig?’ 

‘Y-yeah, of course I do. The tickets were hard to get. So Mum said. We can’t go back this early.’ He knew this band was one of Simon’s favourites and he has passed this love onto Kieren. Hard to resist when their CDs were constantly playing on rotation in their cramped, shared room. The love Simon had for synths and heart breaking lyrics had been passed onto Kieren too. Rooting his music taste in Simon’s past made it easier for him - he didn’t have to pretend to care about the current artists frequenting the charts. 

‘OK, come on then. We’ve got a bit to go before we hit Oxford Road.’ 

Simon marched down the road, letting the rain fall off him. He had added a touch of cover up mousse before they left the house, at Kieren’s instance, but had refused to put his contacts in. ‘They hurt my eyes after a while. You try driving with sore eyes.’ 

At least gigs were dark. Kieren had never been to one, unless you counted the annual Battle of the Bands at Roarton Community Hall. It could hardly be classed as a battle when the only people who entered were Karen Simpson on the cello and the now defunct HVF marching band. Unfortunately Karen’s cello was no match for the booming drums and bellowing trumpets of the marching band. 

He sped up to keep up with Simon who ploughed on through the rain. Simon had been excited about this gig for weeks. Each day he marked off the calendar in the kitchen with a big black X with the gig date marked in red with lots of exclamination marks. Sue had been horrified to see her ‘Views of Roarton 2014’ calendar defaced but Simon had talked her round. Yeah, Kieren smiled, he had a knack of doing that. 

The pair stayed in silence until they reached the top of Oxford Road, with tram tracks criss crossing over each other. Grand Victorian buildings loomed over them, marking the passing of time. 

‘Look Kieren, we’re almost there. Look!’ Simon pointed down a narrow street that was littered by dingy orange lights and spray painted graffiti. Kieren recognised it from Google Maps. ‘Been waiting a long time to see these guys live.’

‘Did you make it before you…well…before you died?’

‘Died a week before they came to play in Manchester. The tickets were the one thing I didn’t try and sell off.’ Kieren’s heart ached at the regret in Simon’s voice. 

Masses of people poured down the street, eager to escape the rain, laughing and joking as they went. There weren’t even this many people who lived in Roarton, Kieren thought. He felt Simon’s hand brush his again and looped their fingers together. ‘The crush is part of the fun. Be cool.’ 

‘Yeah, be cool,’ muttered Kieren. 

As they pushed through the crowd, he became aware of people glancing in their direction. Manchester was a big place with its fair share of PDS sufferers. But the recent attacks had left people feeling nervous and Kieren could feel their fear. 

Then the whispers started. 

‘Rotters!’

‘Are they allowed out in public?’

‘Poofs too!’ 

‘Urgh gay rotters.’

‘I thought they couldn’t have sex.’

’Necros!’

Simon bent close to Keiren’s ear ‘Ignore them.’ Unusual for Simon, he didn’t want a fight. Then Kieren realised it was taking all of Simon’s willpower not to turn around and snap at them. Seeing Future Islands was worth bearing the bitter insults. Simon squeezed Kieren’s hand and continued to pull him through the crowd. 

Waiting at the entrance were two burly security guards, dressed in bright orange t-shirts that strained over massive guts. One of them looked Simon and Kieren, up and down, his gaze lingering over the two men’s hands intwined. Eventually he said, ‘PDS go in the other queue.’ He jerked his thumb over to a small queue behind what looked like an airport security scanner. ‘We need to check you’ve taken your neurotripteline in the past twenty-four hours.’ 

‘But we have….’ For once, Kieren was the one putting up a fight. Simon’s influence must be rubbing off on him.

The bouncer narrowed his eyes. ‘Do we have a problem here?’

Simon jumped to Kieren’s defence. ‘Nope, no problem here. Just fine and dandy. We’ll go get our checks done. Come on, Keir.’ 

As they walked over to the queue, Simon muttered ‘Word of advice, Keir, as someone older and wiser. There’s a small list of people you don’t piss around with. Bouncers are one of them. Power mad, some of them are. If they don’t like the look of you then they can tell you to piss off. And where would that leave us?’ 

‘Sorry.’

‘No, don’t be sorry. It was quite nice seeing you stand up for yourself. Another time perhaps.’ His lips brushed Kieren’s ear as he said ‘Later tonight, maybe.’ 

Kieren shivered and, this time, he let images of what he and Simon had gotten up to slip through his mind. 

‘Hey, man, it’s not fair! I took my dose this morning!’ 

Up ahead a small man, with badly applied cover up mousse, was arguing with the crew operating the screening machine. He had made the effort by putting in his contacts and using his cover up but obviously hadn’t passed the bouncers at the door. ‘Not my fault,’ said the woman behind the controls. ‘The computer doesn’t lie. It says you’re due your shot. Under Section 23 of the Partially Deceased Syndrom Protection Act, we can send you to the nearest holding pen.’ 

Fear spread across the man’s face. ‘Look, there’s no need for that. I can call my friend, get her to come pick me up -.’

‘Sorry, them’s the rules. If we let you go, then you could cause danger to the public.’ She nodded her head and two androngous people in blue overalls moved towards the man. 

’No, please…It just slipped my mind with the excitement with the gig. Here, I can call my friend….’

‘Come with us, please, sir.’ 

Their bulk was no match for the man’s pleading and their arms clapped down on him. As he was lead away Kieren could still hear him pleading to call his friend. 

‘That’s not right,’ he said to Simon. 

Simon’s lips were pressed tight together and his eyes were full of disgust. ‘What can we do? I don’t fancy spending the night in one of those pens. Pick your battles, Kier.’ 

Kieren pulled his hand out from Simon’s. ‘When did you get so…so soft?’ 

‘Woah, back up here. I’m trying to keep my head down here. Manchester is a bigger pond than Roarton. What they have here will make the Centre look like the Ritz.’ 

‘Next!’ barked the woman. Kieren held Simon’s gaze for a moment and then stepped forward. ‘Stand still please, keep your arms by your sides and try to relax.’ Kieren tried not to snort. How could he relax in this situation? He was mad - mad at Simon for being so weak, mad at the way that man was treated, mad at what was meant to be a special night being ruined. 

‘Right, you’re clear. Next!’ 

‘What? But I wasn’t paying attention.’

The technician sniggered. ‘Attention levels don’t matter. Probably a good thing in your case. Move through please, you’re holding everyone else up.’ 

‘But I’m waiting on him.’ Simon stared at Kieren, as though he was trying to read what thoughts were racing through his head. They would have to settle this later. 

He moved slowly towards the entrance, hoping Simon’s scan wouldn’t take too much time. 

‘Hold up! There seems to be a problem.’ 

Kieren turned to see Simon roll his eyes. ‘What?’

The technician frowned at the screen. ‘You’ve got some odd readings here. Neurotripteline is definitely in your system but the readings are skewed.’

Kieren bounded back towards the scanning point. ‘Excuse me, why is there a problem? If the reading is showing up positive then surely he can get through?’

‘I want to take another reading. There’s rumours of people out there brewing their own Neurotripteline.’ She looked at Simon’s face which gave nothing away. Years of lies and hiding whatever drugs were pumping through his system had become almost second nature to Simon. But, Kieren wondered, was he still making his own Neurotripteline? He promised that he would switch back to the “proper stuff” when he moved in with the Walkers. How else would they would explain all the chemistry paraphernalia in Kieren’s cramped room? It stayed back at the bungalow, where neither of them had been brave enough to tread since Amy’s funeral. Although the meetings of the ULA had been moved elsewhere, the two had been uneasy about venturing there in case some of Simon’s displeased ex-followers turned up. 

Simon tutted and stood back inside the scanner. Kieren tried to peer over the woman’s shoulder but her screen was angled in such a way that he could hardly read anything on it. 

‘Are we finished?’ snapped Simon. Kieren glanced at his watch - it was almost time for the band to come on stage. He could hear New Order on an endless loop inside the venue, which seemed an odd choice for a band growling out hits from Baltimore. 

‘For now. But,’ she lowered her voice ‘I would strongly advise you check your Neurotripteline dose. It’s looking a bit low. Watered down, perhaps?’ She let the accusation hang in the air. ‘Don’t let me down, OK? I’m putting a lot of trust in you.’ 

‘That’s great,’ blurted out Kieren, pulling on Simon’s arm and dragging him towards the entrance door. ‘Thanks a lot!’ 

‘Have a good evening. Next!’ 

Once they were inside the dingy club, Kieren pulled Simon over to a dark corner. ‘Here, it’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?’ 

‘Enough, Simon. What was all that about?’

‘What?’

‘Outside. With the scanner. I saw you take your dose this morning. Are you still using my supply? Or your own stuff.’

‘Ach, can we talk about this later?’

‘No, we’ll talk about it now!’

As the words left Kieren’s lips, the lights went down and the crowd started cheering. A tall, well built man with dark hair strode on stage and bellowed into the microphone ‘Good evening, Manchester. We are Future Islands and this a little song called _Back in the Tall Grass_.’ 

The singer’s deep voice broke across the speakers and the crowd started dancing as one giant mass in time to the music. Simon gave Kieren an apologetic look then bounded into the crowd, pushing his way towards the front. Kieren leant against the sticky wall and sighed. He was not looking forward to the conversation on the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Sun In The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all work of Future Islands/Radiohead/Arab Strap/Belle & Sebastian belongs to them. Any representations of them that appear here are figments of my imagination. I am merely borrowing them so Simon and Kieren can share my love for their fine tunes :)
> 
> The title of this chapter, Sun in the Morning, is taken from a Future Island song.

Kieren paid little attention to the band onstage or the crowd milling around him. Instead, he let the thoughts swirl around his head. Had Simon been lying to him all this time? He was fond of long walks on his own, although he welcome Kieren’s company when it was offered. But what about the times he was alone? 

Suddenly a memory surfaced in his head of a jumper in Simon’s side of the wardrobe. It looked like the old test cards they used on the telly, bright and clashing colours on a backdrop of sheer black, and was very chunky. He didn’t remember Simon unpacking it from his battered rucksack when he came back to the Walker’s house after Amy’s funeral. Yet it had mysteriously re-appeared last week. 

Kieren clamped his shaking hands to his side, anger building up inside him. Simon had lied about this. It wasn’t a small ‘You look good in that awful shirt’ lie. This was a massive whopper that could land them both in trouble. _It could mean losing someone else he loved_. Stupid, pig minded Simon. For once, why couldn’t he follow the rules? 

The walls he was leaning on throbbed with the bass from the music system. It felt like he had a heart beating inside him again. This is why he and Simon loved music. It stirred up so many emotions, thoughts, memories. At the Centre Kieren remembered listening to some crap boy band, whilst hooked up to sensors. He watched in bitter disappointed as the white line remained  
fairly stable. 

‘I assume you don’t enjoy this kind of music?’ asked the technician. 

‘Not really. It bores me.’ 

‘What did you listen to….before?’

Kieren thought for a moment. ‘Radiohead. I liked them.’ 

The technician chuckled. ‘Typical teen. I remember them first time round. OK then, I’ll bring some of their CDs in tomorrow.’

The next day, the technician kept to his word and brought in OK Computer. An album that came out when Kieren was only seven years old which he discovered for the first time in his early teens. As the opening chords of ‘Airbag’ crashed over the system, Kieren closed his eyes and felt the music lift him up as he escaped the Centre for a brief four minutes. 

‘Open your eyes, Kieren.’ He remembered opening his eyes and seeing the jagged white lines across the monitor. 

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you can go home.’ 

Music - the true test of whether a rabid had regained their grip on reality. 

Back in the present, he felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘Kieren, are you still mad at me?’ As he opened his eyes, he saw Simon standing in front of him, an apology etched across his face. 

‘Mad is an understatement.’ 

‘Look, can we pretend that earlier tonight didn’t happen? You must have questions and, I promise, I will answer them on the God awful drive home. But, forgive me for the moment?’ He cupped Kieren’s eternally youthful face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips, then touched his forehead to Kieren’s, seeking an apology. 

‘OK then.’ Kieren couldn’t win against Simon. His softness in recent weeks had made him more vulnerable, less like the Undead Prophet’s leading man. Kieren understood the difficulty Simon had opening up to others and every discussion they had was one more step towards….well, who knew what was ahead? 

The opening chords to ‘Balance’ broke out across the club space and Simon grabbed Kieren’s hand. ‘Come on, this is a nice one to dance to. Good beats. Into the abyss!’ Simon pushed his way through the crowd, trailing Kieren behind him. They didn’t quite reach the front but Kieren was close enough to see the sweat pouring off the lead singer’s face, as he sang every lyric as though it was for the first time. His eyes were bright blue, so blue Kieren suspected that the singer might be a PDS sufferer. ‘He’s not!’ yelled Simon in his ear, reading his thoughts. ‘PDS! He’s just got amazing eyes.’ 

‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

Simon tapped the side of his head and smiled. ‘You got inside here, mate. I know you better than you know yourself.’ 

All around them people were lost in their own trance and appreciation of the music but Kieren felt like he and Simon were the only two people in the world. It wasn’t quite ‘I love you’ but it was almost there according to Simon Monroe standards. He grabbed Simon and pulled him close, burying himself in his shoulder. They swayed in time to the music and stayed that way for a long time. 

* * *

Simon was alive with a fire that Kieren had never seen before. He had even spent some of his meagre allowance on a new t-shirt, now proudly sported across his chest. All the way back to the car Kieren couldn’t get a word in edgeways. 

‘Absolutely outstanding, brilliant bloody gig. It was almost worth dying for the first time round. Couldn’t you feel that music, Kier? Didn’t it make you feel so alive? Especially when he hit those high notes on ‘Fall From Grace’. How can the man still speak, I dunno.’ He finally ran out of words to say. 

‘So, you hated it then?’ 

Simon smirked and gave Kieren a playful punch. ‘Sorry, here’s me rabbiting on. Did you enjoy yourself?’

 _Yes, because I was with you_. ‘The gig was good. I’m not so sure about the start of the evening.’ 

‘Aw, don’t spoil it Kieren. All in good time. Let me enjoy this night for a little while longer.’ 

It was best to keep Simon in this mood. He was the most excited that Kieren had seen him (well, outside of the bedroom that is) and it might make it easier to get some answers out of him. Simon continued to jabber about the gig on the long walk back to the car. Everything had been perfect - the lights, the instruments, the large number of bearded men wearing checked shirts and glasses with thick black frames. ‘I mean, what is all that about? They look like they’ve walked off the set of fecking Happy Days or something. Why aren’t kids happy finding their own way these days? What’s the need they have to go ransacking the past?’ 

‘But that’s what we do Simon. How is it any different?’

‘Kieren, there is a world of difference between reading up on five years of local newspapers and dressing the way people did before your parents were born.’

‘So you were always this stylish?’

‘Feck off, moody art boy.’ 

‘You’re calling me a moody art boy? Who’s the one that wears black all the time?’ 

‘Black is a timeless colour. Always in fashion.’ 

They reached the car and Simon rummaged in his pocket for the keys. The locks popped open and they clambered into the car. ‘Now we need some decent music to get us home.’ Simon flicked through his selection of CDs. ‘Something mellow, just to bring us down a bit.’ He held up a CD for Kieren’s approval. 

‘No, not Arab Strap. I’ll throw myself out the car before we get home.’

‘Fine, we’ll stick it on later and enjoy with a nice glass of brandy. This?’ He held up Belle & Sebastian’s _Write About Love_. ‘Not entirely mellow but should get us home.’ 

‘I quite like them actually. Mandatory art boy listening material.’ 

‘They pass these out on the first day of classes, along with a copy of Focault.’

Simon pushed the CD into the car stereo and started the ignition. He let his hand drift over onto Kieren’s knee, only removing it to change gears. 

Kieren waited until they had left the city behind them. ‘So, are we going to chat about earlier on?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

‘And?’

‘It’s easier if I show you.’

‘Hmmm, that sounds like an avoidance tactic.’

Kieren noticed that Simon was driving a lot slower on the dark roads, this time round. As though he wanted to draw out this car journey. 

‘Nope, just a chat that comes with some visual aids.’ 

‘That sounds worrying.’

‘It is. And that’s why it’s easier if I show you.’ 

‘Christ, Simon, why can’t you not just tell me?!’

Simon stayed quiet, his eyes focused on the road ahead. He was moving into that silence zone. Why was it so bloody difficult for him to talk? For someone who had seen every inch of his body, scars and all, Simon was shy at using words. There was always something bubbling away inside his head. Sometimes he would pick up a conversation they had been having hours later, that he had been brewing on inside his head. 

Kieren looked over at Simon. His pale face shone in the darkness of the car. It was his beauty that kept Kieren there, that stopped him from telling Simon to fuck off and stop being such a…mystical _arsehole_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. I Can Give You Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon finally reveals some secrets he has been keeping from Kieren. Can we trust him to tell the truth?

The signs for Roarton greeted them as the car moved off from dark countryside to some form of civilisation. Kieren could see the tall pillars of the boundary fence he helped build, rising up marking the boundaries of the town. Roarton was nestled in one of the many valleys scattered across Yorkshire, surrounded by hills. The main road escaping the town looked down upon the rows of houses, built to accommodate workers in the long gone steelworks. 

At this time of night the streets were deserted. Simon turned left at the crossroads and took the car down a familiar route. Kieren’s stomach, what was left of it, began to turn in knots as he recognised the houses. Many times he had stomped down this road on auto pilot, on his way to see the only person that understood him. 

The car crunched to a stop outside the darkened bungalow. It sat a little way back from the other houses on the street and shrieked of neglect. Although Amy’s gran had left her the house, she hadn’t left her any money to fix it up. Giving the front door a new lick of paint had not been high up on their list of priorities the past couple of months. 

‘Have you still got your keys?’

Kieren heard the jingle of metal and turned to see Simon swinging a set of keys on his finger. A cat face made of felt and coloured purple hung from one of the rings. Of course they were Amy’s  
keys. Kieren began to feel uneasy. What else had Simon kept hidden?

‘Now we’re here, some house keeping to go through. Don’t turn on any lights. The leccy has probably been turned off long before now but we shouldn’t take any chances. Wipe your feet on the mat when you go on.’ Simon caught the look on Kieren’s face. ‘OK, that last one was a joke but doesn’t hurt to build up good habits. At this point I’d normally say any questions but that’s on hold until we’re inside. Ready?’

Kieren nodded. 

‘Right, let’s go. Quietly.’ 

Simon shut his car door with a gentle click, which Kieren copied. Simon tramped up the garden path that had been almost swallowed up by the overgrown grass. Instead of unlocking the front door, he turned down the side of the house and made his way round to the back garden. 

It was a full moon and the back of the house was suffocated in its light. The key turned in the lock, letting off a loud screech that Kieren was sure could be heard for miles. The silence hung over Roarton, waiting for daylight to return in the morning. 

‘Kier? Hurry up!’ Simon’s pissed off face was framed in the doorway. ‘Quick, I don’t like leaving the door unlocked.’ 

‘If someone wanted to get in, they could just smash the window. It’s not like neighbourhood watch keeps a close eye on this house.’

‘Not the time to debate this, mate. Hurry!’ 

Kieren sighed and trudged over to the door. He dreaded finding out what was hidden in Amy’s old house. He stepped into the kitchen and his grief for Amy slammed into his chest. It made him stagger on his last few steps into the house and he leant on the kitchen counter to regain his thoughts. He had not been in the house since the day before Amy’s funeral. Even now he expected her to come swirling into the kitchen, eager to find out what mischief they could get up to. 

‘It feels like she’s never left.’

‘I know, Kier. I know.’ Simon’s voice was full of sorrow. ‘I’d forgotten you hadn’t been here for a while. It hit me the first time too. Come here.’

Simon opened his arms and pulled Kieren to him. Kieren squashed his face into Simon’s new tshirt, still sticky with the transfer design. He shuddered as emotions swirled over him: the loss of Amy; the thrill of being this close to Simon which had never left him no matter how many times he touched him; how bloody pissed off he was at Simon keeping secrets from him. It felt wrong to be this close in this place, Amy’s place. But he could not tear himself away. 

Simon stroked the back of Kieren’s head, soothing the grief out of him. Guilt crept into his head as Kieren regretted not coming back to Amy’s house sooner. There was still that hope that she would come back one day. Phillip still had faith, months later. Kieren had changed his daily walking route to avoid going via the graveyard to avoid bumping into Phillip. That was wrong too but Phillip’s grief was too raw for Kieren to cope with. He had lost his best friend but Phillip had lost a part of his soul. Kieren could understand how that felt but he was unpacking that on his own. Phillip’s mum was a nurse; she would keep an eye on him. 

Kieren pulled away from Simon’s shoulder and looked into his grey eyes. ‘Have you been in her room?’

Simon’s pupils flickered a little as he debated whether or not to tell the truth. ‘Yes. Just the once. Lent her a jumper once. Didn’t see any harm in going to get it back.’ 

‘The same jumper that’s now hanging up in our wardrobe?’ 

‘You noticed?’ Simon’s shoulder slumped. ‘Thought I was being so clever, keeping it out of sight.’ 

‘Not clever enough, Simon Monroe.’ Kieren used his hands to push himself away. Simon was reluctant to break the embrace, his hands still trailed by Kieren’s sides as he moved away from him. 

‘What have you got to show me?’

Simon huffed and leant against the sticky kitchen work top. ‘You know how we were making our own Neurotripteline?’ Kieren nodded, urging him to go on. ‘I preferred it to the shitty manufactured stuff the Centre gives us. It’s a better hit, I suppose. Once a junkie….’ He left the words hang in the air. ‘So that’s why it showed up on the scanner tonight. Always had a head for chemistry. Nearly thought about doing something with it after school. But then, life got in the way. Being eighteen is tough. Lots of temptation being flung your way.’

‘I don’t believe you. Is that all?’

‘What else do you want to hear, Kieren? That I’ve been pouring over old chemistry textbooks, trying to piece together moles and compounds and other junk? That’s all. Except….’

‘Except…?’

Simon looked away from Kieren and down at the floor. ‘Sometimes I talk to her.’

Kieren’s decayed heart lurched in his chest. Sometimes he was so wrapped up in his own grief that he forgot that Simon was grieving too. He leant forward and rested his hand on Simon’s arm. The anger was still beating hard inside his chest so he couldn’t quite bring himself to put his arms around Simon’s neck and kiss the pain away. 

Simon’s voice dropped to a whisper as he stuttered over the words. ‘It’s easier here than up…there. She doesn’t belong in the ground. She belongs here with all her noisy skirts and mad things she used to put in her hair. Sometimes I can almost hear her talking to me.’ He looked down at Kieren, who nodded. 

It was hard to grieve as a PDS sufferer. Tears of blackened blood would sometimes drip down from Kieren’s eyes if he thought too long about Amy or Rick. It was alarming to anyone who was watching hence why he was careful to avoid doing it in front of Jem or his parents. Besides, you couldn’t spend the rest of your life crying. You had to move forward, honour the past without letting it affect the future. 

‘I talk to her too,’ said Kieren. 

‘You do?’

‘Lots. When I’m out walking and see a flower she would have picked and brought home. Or when the wind blows hard I tell her to stop letting her hair fly into my face.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, that only made her do it more. ‘Feel alive, Kieren Walker,’ she would shout at me. ‘This is why Yorkshire is God’s country. Get that black blood pumping again!’” 

‘Daft lass.’ There was warmth in Simon’s voice. ‘She was always dropping things when I was working. Shame as she really got the theory of what I was doing. I was hoping she would like to help out more as time went on.’ 

‘Can you show me?’ 

‘The mad scientist’s lab? Sure, why not? Follow, young sir.’

Simon went down the dark corridor that lead out of the kitchen and towards the front door. His earlier caution had gone and he barely muttered a warning to keep to the shadows. There was a small room off to the side of the living room, a storage cupboard really. Simon pushed open the door then stood back to let Kieren through. 

‘How can you see in the dark?’ 

‘PDS super power. Nah, there should be a torch on the shelf by your head.’

Kieren felt along in the gloom and his hands brushed over hard plastic. It was a large heavy torch, the kind you kept in the boot of the car in case you broke down. He flicked it on and the tube light in the torch’s base lit up the room. 

‘Bloody hell!’ 

He swung the beam up and down the height of the room, taking it all in. A mass of plastic pipes were taped up the walls, dipping in and out of vast glass cauldrons that were mounted on a wooden pallet on the floor. The shelves were neatly arranged with glass jars in a variety of sizes, some half full with a murky liquid. 

‘They’re fermenting,’ Simon explained. ‘You’ve got to let it lie for a week or so before you start using. Before then it doesn’t have a full affect.’ He paused. ‘It could make you go rabid.’

‘Did that ever happen?’

‘Not to me. But once at the commune when we were testing it out.’

‘Who did you test it on?’

‘Willing volunteer. Keen to make the world a better place.’ He caught Kieren’s glance. ‘They’re fine now. Just spent some time sleeping it off. Like a bad hangover - if you ever had the chance to have one.’ 

‘Simon, you have to stop this. Maxine Martin’s replacement hasn’t arrived yet but you can bet they’ll be all over this place when they do.’

Kieren put the torch back down on the shelf, letting the light shine back into the hallway. Simon’s face glowed under the harsh light, making him look more disgruntled than usual. ‘I can handle myself.’

‘It’s not about that! It’s about them taking you away, you stupid bastard.’

‘That won’t happen.’

‘How?! How do you know?’ 

‘I can look after myself.’

‘Evidently not, especially if you’re sneaking off up here to make drugs!’

‘We’re not going to agree on this, are we?’

Kieren shook his head. 

‘Fine, alright. I’ll come up tomorrow and dismantle everything. You happy with that?’ 

‘Promise?’

‘Ach, you’re not going to make me do a pinky promise like Amy used to do? That drove me crazy.’

Kieren burst out laughing. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘Bit old for that. Anyway, while we’re here I might take the chance to grab some CDs.’ 

‘OK then.’ 

Simon turned and pushed open the doorway to his old room. Kieren hung by the doorway, not wanting cross the threshold. He watched Simon squatted by the side of a brown cabinet. Plastic CD cases rattled together as he rummaged through them. ‘Ah, got it!’ He turned and brandished a dark CD cover in the air. ‘Now, these guys are brilliant. Their voices will send you to heaven and back.’ He stretched his legs and moved towards Kieren. ‘As I finally intend to do when we get back to your parents’ house.’ His lips brushed Kieren’s ears, which made Kieren shiver. ‘Been doing some absolutely filthy things to you in my head this evening.’

‘Really?’ 

Simon pulled Kieren’s face towards his and took them into a deep kiss. Their rough lips brushed together, saying everything they could not find words to say. A dozen sorries and sorrows poured into the kiss with a tenderness neither of them had really known. Rick’s kisses had been loaded with booze and shame and self hate that had been passed onto Kieren. Simon’s self hate had nothing to do with Kieren which made the kisses full of love, passion, celebration. 

Kieren broke away from the kiss and wrapped himself around Simon. ‘Home?’ he whispered in his ear.

‘Home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe to say that Simon might not be entirely reliable in keeping his word...
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments/kudos on this piece. Let me know what bits you're enjoying and which bits not so much!


	5. Beauty of Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Simon's secrets has been uncovered but there's more to come in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been brewing for a while. I'm trying to write a new chapter every week and hope to keep to this regime. Enjoy!

Kieren opened his eyes as he blinked the last remains of sleep from his eyes. Simon was pressed up close to his back, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. When he first moved in with the Walkers, a camp bed had been installed in Kieren’s cramped room. Steve had come in, faffed around and asked Kieren to move almost every piece of furniture around to accommodate the new sleeping arrangements. 

He had no idea. 

Since the first night, the camp bed had remained folded up under the window. No-one ventured into their room, except Jem and they could rely on her keeping up the myth that each night, Kieren and Simon tucked themselves into separate beds. 

Kieren tugged the duvet around him. He no longer felt the cold but he could still remember the comfort of a warm duvet on chilly mornings. Besides, he was still shy about sleeping naked next to Simon. The scars on his wrist had been discussed between them many times but they were still too intimate to leave on display. Simon felt the same way on the long scar up his back and the harsh memories they brought back. Neither of them questioned why the other worn long sleeved tops in bed. 

Simon made a small noise in his sleep, sighed and then rolled over. Kieren, released from his lover’s arms, turned and raised himself up to look down at Simon, sleeping soundly. He never looked peaceful. Whenever he slept, the corners of Simon’s mouth would curl down, shrieking of disapproval. Strands of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead and Kieren itched to brush them back into place. 

Instead, he forced himself out of bed and sat down on the rug beside his bed. Kieren had never been a fan of reading. Instead he preferred to spend time using his hands, crafting the pictures that spun around his head onto paper. However he was trying to learn an appreciation for the written word, re-seeing literature through Simon’s eyes. A difficult task due to the poor supply of books at the local Roarton library but Simon had a skill for seeking out hidden treasures on the shelves. 

Kieren had started out with poetry. ‘Short, sweet and to the point,’ Simon had said. One dull Wednesday afternoon, he had picked out a collection of W.B. Yeats (who else) and pressed it into Kieren’s hands. ‘Read every single one,’ he ordered. ‘Then come back to me and tell me you don’t like reading.’ The challenge had been set.

The book had sat by Kieren’s side of the tiny bed for days. Simon drifted in and out of the books he had been reading. Every week there seemed to be a new one by the side of his bed. The Bible always sat there, littered with colourful Post It slips as Simon made copious notes. A mass of Post Its appeared to be attacking Relevations, making the volume swell in size. Perched on top of the weighty tome was _Atonement_ by Ian McEwen. A small, worried looking girl sitting on large stone steps spread across the front cover. When Kieren queried what it was about, Simon smiled and said ‘Life, death and all the lies we tell in-between. You have to read it. Once you’ve finished Yeats, of course.’

Bloody poetry. Kieren had tried writing scraps of verse in his teens but the words looked strange on the page. No matter how hard he tried, they couldn’t capture all the mixed emotions caught up in his head. At school books were about drifters during the Depression or ladies taking tea in drawing rooms. None of it spoke to Kieren and he lacked the energy to seek out the literature that could. 

The key to his soul had been art. Looking at paintings, drawings, posed photographs and he could get the message straight away. They spoke to him, shared his loneliness and tried to help make sense of his life. 

Towards the end, those dark days before he went up to the cave for the last time, even art hadn’t been enough. 

‘What you doing?’ Simon’s sleepy voice rose from the bed. The duvet rustled as he turned over to see Kieren, sitting on the floor, book open on his lap. ‘Why are you reading on the floor?’

‘More room. Someone was doing their best starfish impression.’

Simon blinked, still too caught up in the dream world to make sense of the joke. His eyes looked even paler in the mornings. Sometimes their intensity scared Kieren. 

‘What time is it?’ Simon didn’t wait for an answer as he picked up his watch. ‘Jeepers, it’s almost lunchtime! We missed breakfast.’ 

‘Just means we’ll need to have a big lunch.’

Simon laughed and sat up in bed to stretch his arms out. ‘Bacon and eggs and sausages for me. Triple portions. After all, it’s a while since I had a good meal.’ 

Later that day, the two men walked to Amy’s house. This time they used the front door. No point sneaking round the back in broad daylight, it would only cause more suspicion. Kieren could see the net curtains twitching as they walked up the path.

The bungalow looked different in the daylight. Amy had not been one for house keeping and layers of dust coated every surface. Simon had wiped down spots on the kitchen counter when he had been working, the trails of his sleeves created a pattern in the whiteness. 

‘Thank you for doing this.’ Kieren reached out and touched Simon’s arm. ‘Do you need a hand?’ 

Simon shook his head. ‘Nah, I can get it done quicker myself. Why don’t you go and hang out in my room? Got some books I’d like to take back to your’s.’

Kieren groaned. ‘More bloody books! Haven’t you got enough?’ 

‘Never can have enough books,’ Simon said, his voice muffled as he marched into the cupboard. Loud screeching noises could be heard as Simon peeled the tape holding the plastic pipes against the walls. Kieren turned and pushed open the door to Simon’s room. 

This had been Amy’s gran’s room before she died. Kieren jumped at the large portrait of Jesus with the bleeding heart that greeted him as he entered. There weren’t many Catholics in Roarton. The church abandoned during the Rising placed itself at the less decorative end of the Church of England. Kieren remembered two boys at school going to the next town for their First Communion, all dressed in white. On Sundays a priest would give Mass in the village hall, until the numbers dwindled away. 

Simon obviously felt at home with the flaming hearts. Kieren would have covered them up with a nice thick towel. He tried to push Jesus’s gaze from his mind and crouched down beside the small cabinet that held Simon’s books. _The Line of Beauty_ , _The Painted Veil_ , _How to Start a Revolution_ , _Collected Works of Edwin Morgan_ , _Of Human Bondage_ , _Women In Love_. An assortment of titles squashed together on the shelves that meant nothing to him. Kieren reached out and pulled the thinnest book, _The Painted Veil_ , from the shelf. 

A photograph, hidden by the books, escaped from its prison and fell to the floor. 

Kieren leant over and brushed the dust from the photograph. It took him a moment to recognise Simon from a lifetime ago. He was smiling at the camera, sure and confident, with his blue eyes staring back at the camera, skin glowing with life. But that was not what Kieren’s eyes were drawn to. Simon’s arm was wrapped around a girl with long hair dyed pillar box red, her head resting on his shoulder. Part of her face was hidden by her hair but she was staring up adoringly at Simon.  
Obviously not _just_ a friend. 

‘Who’s this?’ Kieren tried to keep his voice steady as he called out into the hallway.

‘What?’ Simon was still working inside the cupboard. 

‘There’s a photograph of you with a girl with red hair.’

A loud thump came from the cupboard and a hiss of an expletitive. Simon appeared, rubbing the top of his head. ‘Let’s see.’ He reached out for the photograph. 

Kieren stood, trying to look nonchalant. It didn’t matter if Simon had a past. He just didn’t think it involved girls. 

‘Her name was Susan Roberts. We went to sixth form college together. Nice lass.’ Simon stared down at the photograph. 

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Well, there’s a bit more to it than that. I can see the way she’s looking at you.’ 

Simon looked back up at Kieren, a hint of anger in his eyes. ‘Yes, we were lovers. Each other’s first love if you want to know.’ 

‘Have you…been…with other women?’

‘That’s a bit of a personal question. Does it matter?’ 

‘I’m not sure. Yes. No. Yes. You know all about me.’

‘Was there no-one before Rick?’ 

Kieren shook his head. He had had crushes on boys, and girls, at school but those feelings came nowhere close to the ones he had for Rick - and now Simon. ‘Small town, everyone is paired off before they’re sixteen.’ 

‘Except you.’

‘Except me.’ 

‘Do you really want to know about me and Susan? There’s not much to tell.’ 

‘I’d like to hear it.’

Simon rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh. ‘OK, I’ll give you the summarised version. First day of sixth form, I waltz into registry class, new bag, new haircut, thinking I knew everything. Cocky wee shite. Most seats were taken so I took the nearest one to the door. Which was beside Susan.’ He paused. ‘Not very dramatic. There were no doves or rainbows or fecking unicorns that appeared. She turned to me, smiled and said ‘Hello, my name is Susan.’ And that was that. She was doing English Lit, Maths, Theatre Studies and Art. My teachers told me to do Sciences, because that’s what the boys did, so I was doing Chemistry and Biology, on top of the usual. We hung out at lunch, held hands in the park across the road from the college and had our first kiss on a rainy afternoon in October.’ 

‘Is that it?’

‘It ended. That’s it.’

‘Why?’

‘Christ almighty, it ended. It’s in the past, what’s the bloody point of going over it again?’

Kieren staggered back from the force of Simon’s words. He knew he had pushed too far but he had no experience of playing these relationship games: when to push someone about their past and when to draw back. He had known Rick all his life so there was no need to ask these questions. And Amy, well he loved her not that way of course, she was a fan of sharing as much information as possible. 

Simon threw the photograph onto the bed. ‘I kept it as a memento. Surely you can understand that?’ 

Kieren’s mind flashed back to the drawing of Rick, carefully packed into a portfolio case under his bed. Yes, he could understand that. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked all those questions. I was just surprised, I guess.’

‘We can have that talk another time, I swear. Just not today. There’s too much going on.’

‘Sometimes I forget how much older you are.’

‘Hey, watch it!’

‘I’m serious! You’ve got an extra ten years on me.’

‘Yeah and look what I did with them. Set a course to self destruction to find any drug going. Dead before I was thirty.’ 

Simon leaned over and picked up the photograph from the bed. Kieren watched as he gently traced a thumb over Susan’s face. ‘I sometimes regret how it ended,’ he whispered. ‘Nice girl. Shouldn’t have got involved with scum like me.’ 

‘Hey, that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about there.’ 

Simon turned to look at Kieren, a small smile playing about his lips. ‘Be warned. He’s not always a very nice person.’ 

Kieren pulled Simon to him, cupped his face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on his lips. ‘You’re always nice to me.’ This time Simon returned the kiss, softly at first then letting it build. Kieren’s head swam as Simon’s tongue darted in and out of his mouth. The kisses were heart soaring, show stopping stuff that whispered of being alive. 

As the two men embraced, Simon’s past watched from the bed, waiting and lurking to become part of the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you/you're not enjoying the story. I'm a sucker for inter-personal relationships but I know that's not everyone's cup of tea.


	6. Be Careful With The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to jonovak for providing the inspiration for this chapter.

The stillness of the house weighed heavy on Simon’s heart. The Walkers had vanished, each to their own tasks: Steve, off to work; Sue was at a festival planning committee meeting, Jem was off studying at a friend’s house (likely story) and Kieren had gone to visit his counsellor. Simon had been offered one too but he laughed the idea off. Far too much of his time in the living world had been spent talking to people that didn’t understand him. It was not a pattern he had chosen not to repeat. 

He perched on the sofa, trying to lose himself in _Atonement_. Memories from behind closed doors tugged at his mind. Susan’s voice, calling his name, floated through his head. He lost count of how many times he had sent silent apologies to her. The time spent sleeping rough in Manchester had given him time to think about and regret every single bad thing he had ever done. 

‘Enough!’ He slammed the book shut, having read twenty pages without taking a single word in. 

‘You all right, love?’

‘Christ!’ Simon spun round on the sofa to see Sue staring down at him. ‘I mean, sorry, Sue.’ He held up the book. ‘Story is winding me up a bit.’ 

She smiled. ‘Steve does the same with films. If he doesn’t like the way they’re going, he switches them off. Drives me mad. Had to wait a week to finish _Titantic_ when he was out.’ Her gaze fell upon the Ikea Billy bookcases lining the room, crammed full of DVDs. ‘Now he’s got so many he can change the story as much as he likes. Anyway, must get this coat off. It’s so stuffy in here!’ 

‘Sorry, don’t feel the temperature much in here.’ 

‘Of course, love. Don’t worry, easily done.’ 

He heard her shoes clacking into the kitchen, hitting off the cheap lino that was starting to rise at the edges. It had been an ongoing battle in recent months to get it replaced. Steve kept trying to fix it, with gaffer tape of all things, but to no avail. He first tried to rope Simon into helping, which was ridiculous as Simon was useless with such work. Building a Neurotriptelin cooking station? No problem. Some basic DIY? That was not where his skills lay. 

Sue flipped the kettle on and the low hiss cancelled out the silence in the house. Background noise was good. It meant that he didn’t have to think. Mugs clinked together as Sue retrieved her favourite one from the drying rack. It had ‘World’s Best Bunting Untangler’ delicately painted across it, with a ring of bunting decorating the rim. Kieren had pain stakingly sat upstairs, under the dim light from his bedside lamp, in the week running up to Christmas gently brushing the paint onto the china surface. Sue had been absolutely delighted when she unwrapped the box on Christmas morning. As Kieren hugged his mother, Simon’s heart lurched into his mouth and he had had to excuse himself for a moment. 

Sue returned from the kitchen, steaming mug of tea in hand. She collapsed down onto the sofa opposite. ‘Ah, that’s better. The tea they have at these meetings is absolutely rotten. Disgrace to Yorkshire! Did you…er…like tea when you were…?’ She trailed off, unsure if it was impolite to ask such a mundane question. 

‘Erm, not, not really. Da always made proper tea, using tea leaves. It tasted really bitter to me. Not much fun when you’re a kid and like fizzy pop.’ 

‘Ah, Kier was like that too. Had to ration the lemonade when he was around. Surprised he never got any fillings when he was a nipper.’

Sue took another slurp of tea and Simon’s eyes fell to his lap. Was this what people talked to their lover’s parents about? Before Kieren, he had never met anyone else’s parents that he was romantically entangled with. It seemed too much of a bother, besides it was just more people to reject him. Forgetting the first uncomfortable meal with Sue and Steve, they had been absolutely lovely to him. Probably helped by the fact he had taken a bullet for their son. 

_If only they knew…_

‘What was Kieren like?’ He stumbled over the question. ‘I mean, when he was younger? Younger than he is now?’ Oh shit, not the best thing to say. 

Sue sat, nursed her tea, and thought for a moment. ‘He always liked art. I know everyone says that about him but he did. Steve got him a set of crayons one Christmas. Kieren must have been a toddler as I kept telling him that he was too young for it. He would end up eating the blooming things!’ She chuckled. ‘Instead, Steve was right and I was wrong. Kieren unwrapped them and it was like we’d given him the world. For months he carried them around, always drawing pictures any chance he got, until all the crayons were worn away to stubs. He cried the house down until Steve brought home another box. Then he was as happy as a pig in muck!’ 

‘For me it was talking books.’ Simon blurted out. ‘I don’t mean books that talk but the cassette ones. Mum used to read me my bedtime stories. But I didn’t stop at bedtime. I always asked for another one - when she was getting ready for work or washing the dishes. So she and Da got me a cassette player so I could listen to stories anytime I wanted. Back fired though. I told Mum I didn’t want her to read me stories anymore, I could do it myself. She said that was fine but I could see the tears in her eyes.’ 

‘That’s what kids do, Simon. They start grabbing onto those bits of freedom.’ Sue leaned over and patted Simon’s knee. ‘Mothers learn that bloody quickly. Sometimes a bit too quickly. Oh hark at me getting all deep and meaningful. Oh love!’ 

Black tears fell from Simon’s eyes onto his hands. No matter how hard he blinked them away, still they kept falling onto his hands, leaving watery trails weaving through his hands. 

The sofa rustled as Sue moved to sit next to him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she pulled him close to her. ‘Oh love,’ she said again. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’ 

Simon’s shoulders shuddered as he wept. There was no breath in his body to make the jerky noises that usually came with crying. He lay in Sue’s arms as she patted his back, carefully avoiding the hole at the top his spine. 

He sniffed loudly and sat up, releasing Sue’s arms from him. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. 

Sue’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, a tremor in her voice. ‘You might want to go and wash your face before the others come home.’ 

Simon turned and saw the black stains across her pristine beige cardigan. ‘Oh no…’

‘Don’t be daft. Will come out with some scrubbing.’ He appreciated the lies. ‘Now, go on. But Simon? You know you can talk to me whenever you want. I know there’s no one else but Kier and it can be…difficult talking to someone you’re involved with.’ 

Simon swallowed. It was the first time that either one of Kieren’s parents had acknowledged that they might be more than just friends. ‘Yeah, I’m not very good at this sort of thing.’ 

‘No one is. Mothers just have a bit more practice at it than other people.’ A crunch of a car on gravel come from the driveway outside. ‘That’ll be Steve. Pop upstairs and get get yourself cleaned up then come down to help choose tonight’s DVD. He’ll like that.’ 

She stood up and took off her stained cardie, folding it quickly to hide the stains. Simon got up and went into the hallway as he heard the back door slam shut. Steve’s voice floated up from the kitchen. ‘How did the meeting go, Sue?’

‘Oooh, same as always. Fighting over whose turn it is to make the cakes.’

Simon reached the bathroom and closed the door firmly behind him. He looked into the mirror and gasped as he saw the black marks around his eyes. It looked like a mascara experiment gone horribly wrong. He turned on the hot water tap until the steam was belching out. He splashed water up into his face, again and again, watching the blackness mix in with the water. 

All those secrets bubbling inside, waiting to come out. Next time he hoped it wouldn’t be Sue that he would be talking to about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Control Brings Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I've made a Spotify playlist to accompany this work. It's a mix of music mentioned in previous chapters and music I think Kier-mon (sorry…) would enjoy listening to. You can give your ears a treat [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/drusillamac/playlist/4u5NigCUzBZOJ6wiQgobgC).
> 
> The poem quoted towards the end of this chapter is "Words" by W.B. Yeats.

Kieren could hear the music as he turned into the street. Angry, ugly, sweary punk music blasted from the open windows of the Walkers’ home. He could see Mrs Morris standing at her front gate, two doors down, lips pursed and ready for a fight.

‘Kieren Walker!’ She strode down the pavement towards him, blocking his path.

‘Problem, Mrs Morris?’

‘That bloody racket has been going on all afternoon. Can hardly hear Countdown over it.’

Kieren surprised a giggle. Good old Jem. She probably missed out on mild teenage rebellion. Her counsellor had recommended that Jem should live through these emotions. And why shouldn’t she? ‘Sorry to hear that, Mrs Morris. I’ll have a word with her.’ Like hell he would.

The Walkers’ house began to throb with a heavy bass as the music moved onto the next track. Kieren recognised it as the opening chords to Digital by Joy Division, which bounced around the quiet surbanban street. Mrs Morris’ face turned a darker shade of purple. ‘Can you do it quickly? My poor Gerald has been pulling out his feathers with the stress of it all.’

‘Who’s Gerald?’

‘My budgie!’

Kieren let out a snort of laughter which he tried to disguise as a cough. He pushed past Mrs Morris, muttered an apology. His shoulders shook with the effort not to laugh.

‘Jem! I’m home!’ He shouted up the hallway trying to break through the wall of sound. There was a loud thump that sounded like it was coming from his room. Why on earth was Jem in there?

Kieren sprinted up the stairs. As he reached the landing he could hear giggles and smell something familiar that he could not quite put his finger on at first. He sniffed the air again - cigarette smoke. Mum was going to have a shit fit when she got home. Kieren pushed open the door. ‘Jem, why are you hanging out in…?’ He stopped, gob smacked at the scene before him.

Jem sat cross legged under the window, trying to blow cigarette smoke out of the window. In her left hand, she clutched a half empty bottle of Smartprice vodka. Simon was sprawled out on his stomach, across their bed. A plastic bowl filled with a murky liquid was by his side.

‘Is that sheep’s brains?’ asked Kieren.

Simon turned to look at Kieren, his eyes slightly glazed over. ‘Hey,’ he drawled. ‘Thought you’d be home later. Just hanging out with Sister Jemina here.’

‘Fuck you, dead boy. It’s Jem.’ She raised the bottle to her lips and tried to take a sip. The clear liquid exploded out her mouth as the giggles erupted through her body.

’She’s Lost Control. A great song. Must put it on. Very apt for this moment.’ Simon reached out and pressed skip on the CD player until it hit the right track.

‘I have lost control. That’s why I’m on the bloody pills!’ Jem burst out between giggles. Simon let out a hugh belly laugh and rolled onto his back. Kieren felt a sting of jealously. Simon had never really laughed like that with him. Mind you, he had never seem Simon get wasted before, even on sheep’s brains.

‘Mrs Morris is furious. Her poor budgie, Gerald, is stressed.’

‘Ahaha, Gerry the budgie!’ cackled Jem.

‘He’s pulled his feathers out,’ snapped Kieren.

‘Baldy budgie.’

‘Baldy Gerry the budgie,’ chimed in Simon.

Tears ran down Jem’s face. Simon clutched his sides as he howled with laughter.

‘Right enough!’ Kieren marched over to the CD player and turned down the volume.

‘Chill out, Grandad Kieren!’ Jem wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘You’ll be borrowing one of Simon’s jumpers next.’

‘Oi!’ Simon pointed at Jem. ‘I have you know that jumpers are the next best thing.’

They exploded in giggles and didn’t notice Kieren storm off downstairs.

He threw his coat across the living room, catching on one of the table side lamps that Sue was fond of. He continued into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle and listened to its hiss. The contents of the cutlery drawer rattled together as Kieren pulled out a single teaspoon. It was when he banged the fridge door shut, milk in hand, that he realised he was making a cup of tea.

_He was making himself a cup of tea._

The carton of milk in his hand shook as he focused on what he was doing. Anger had made him forget himself. The last time he felt this was way was when he came out of the Blue Oblivion haze, lying on the wet grass, gradually becoming aware that Simon was lying on top of him and that this was not a dream.

Kieren slammed the carton back into the fridge and returned his mug to the cupboard. Heavy footsteps shuffled across the carpet and he turned to see Simon leaning against the door frame. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head and his knees buckled against the painted wood. ‘Hey, Ker…..’ He waved his hand in Kieren’s direction. ‘Just a bit of a laugh, you know?’ Inhebiration made Simon’s accent even stronger, flattened out his vowels.

‘Where did you get them from?’

‘Around. Somewhere.’

‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’

Anger flashed across Simon’s stoned eyes. ‘Doing what?’

‘Getting yourself in this state.’

‘I’m having fun.’

‘Fun? This is not fun. I thought you wanted to keep a clear head.’ Kieren reached out and pulled Simon towards him. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Amy? Do you miss her?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine.’ Simon shook off Kieren and wandered back into the living room.

‘Is it me then?’ Kieren followed him, determined not to drop the matter this time. ‘Are you upset because I made you take down your little cooking lab?’

Simon stood and swayed in the middle of the Walkers’ living room. ‘I think we should talk about this when I’m in more control.’ He tried to rest his forehand in his hands but missed, almost falling over. ‘Jesus Christ. I’d forgotten how odd this felt.’

Kieren’s heart softened. Simon looked lost and, if Kieren didn’t know better, a little bit frightened. ‘Come on, Si. Let’s go to bed.’ Simon’s face lit up. ‘No, not like that. You need to sleep this off.’

‘OK, then.’ Simon followed Kieren up the stairs, like a meek lamb. Jem had retreated to her own room. Loud music blasted out from behind her door, at a slightly lower volume than before.  
Kieren kicked the empty vodka bottle out of his way and removed the gunky bowl of sheep’s brains from their bed. He smoothed out the duvet covers and peeled them back. ‘In you get.’ Simon climbed into the bed, pulled off his jumper and dropped it to the side of the bed.

‘Can I ask you something?’ His words were drunk with sleep and sheep’s brains.

‘Anything.’

‘Can you read to me?’

‘Erm…’

‘Please.’ It was almost a whisper but Kieren could hear the plea in Simon’s voice. ‘It helps.’

Kieren picked up the heavy collection of Yeats by the side of his bed; the copy he had struggled to read more than a couple of pages of. Previous owners had ceased the spine where their favourite verses had been located. The book fell open in Kieren’s lap and he read the first poem on the page.

_I had this thought a while ago,_   
_"My darling cannot understand_   
_What I have done, or what would do_   
_In this blind bitter land.'_   
_And I grew weary of the sun_   
_Until my thoughts cleared up again,_   
_Remembering that the best I have done_   
_Was done to make it plain;_   
_That every year I have cried, "At length_   
_My darling understands it all,_   
_Because I have come into my strength,_   
_And words obey my call';_   
_That had she done so who can say_   
_What would have shaken from the sieve?_   
_I might have thrown poor words away_   
_And been content to live._

‘Beautiful,’ murmured Simon, his eyes closed. ‘Thank you.’ Kieren watched as he slipped into the land of sleep. His automatic breathing response slowed and stopped altogether. Kieren reached out and gently touched Simon’s leg, rising up from under the duvet. He gasped as he felt the cold seeping through the duvet and almost snatched his hand away in fear. Surely it was just a long gone sense memory kicking in? But why now, after all this time?

He glanced down at the heavy book in his lap. Perhaps it was time to start something new. He slid onto the floor, flipped to the first page and began to read.


	8. Hawkers Beware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This chapter is a wee bitty longer than previous editions. I had fun writing it so hope you enjoy reading the latest update.

The next morning Simon had woken up with a sore head and full of apologies. Kieren couldn’t help but laugh at how pathetic he was. Once they had both taken their Neurotriptelin, Kieren suggested a walk to clear both their heads. Steve had threatened a family afternoon watching the latest DVD releases. Neither Kieren nor Simon had the stomach for it so slipped out whilst Steve was washing the breakfast dishes.

They slowly ambled through the streets of Roarton, deserted at this time on a Sunday morning. Everyone was either at church or sleeping off the night before.

A blast of wind billowed down from the hills that sent dead leaves spinning into the air. Kieren felt his scarf blowing in the breeze and, just for a second, he felt… _cold_. Which was ridiculous. He never felt the sun on his skin since he came back or the winter’s breath on his neck. Another reason why he was tasked with taking the bins out, no matter what the weather.

Simon stopped on the path beside Kieren, his fists clenched. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Kieren.

‘Up ahead. Look.’

Kieren followed his gaze. _Oh shit._

Zoe stood there, her pale face ablaze with anger. She had changed her look in recent weeks. Gone were the over sized polo necks and the cover up mousse. Today she was wearing a battered denim jacket with metal studs across the collar. Patches hung from her lapel kept in place by a forest of safety pins. Her blonde hair was slicked back with a generous amount of gel that framed her mousse-free face.

Since Simon’s departure from the bungalow and the Undead Liberation Army, Zoe had been more than happy to step into his shoes. Kieren remembered her hanging about the bungalow, giving Simon puppy dog eyes whenever he looked in her direction. Like many of his followers. Now her admiration was gone and had been replaced with utter hatred.

The Undead of Roarton had retreated to the outskirts of the town, to an abandoned farmhouse that had once hosted mad chaotic parties, fuelled by sheep’s brains. Kieren and Simon had always taken care to avoid that area of the town on their travels.

‘What should we do?’

‘I…I don’t know.’

Kieren reached over and took Simon’s hand. ‘It’s OK, I’m with you. They’re just a bunch of silly people with nothing better to do.’

They watched as Zoe straightened up her shoulders and swaggered down the path towards them. Kieren held on tight as she stopped a foot away from Simon. She stared into his unblinking eyes, drew her head back and spat into his face. Black bile trickled down his cheek and Simon did nothing to stop it spattering onto his duffel coat.

‘Traitor!’ hissed Zoe. ‘You’re not welcome here. Keep to the other end of town.’

Kieren let out a bark of startled laughter. ‘What? Sorry, Zoe, but who the hell do you think you are? Some sort of Undead Sheriff? This is my town too. We can go where we like.’

Zoe turned, looked Kieren up and down with a sneer on her face. ‘You were never one of us. Always wore your cover up mousse and contact lenses. Tried to fit in with the living. You’ve made your choice.’ She pushed in between Kieren and Simon’s shoulders, breaking them apart, and continued down the path. ‘Take this as a warning, lads,’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘Don’t want to see you round this neck of the woods again.’

Her boots crunched down the path.

‘Are you alright? God, what a bitch.’ Kieren rummaged in his coat pocket for a hankie. He handed it to Simon who slowly wiped the spittle off his face. ‘What is she on? Some rancid sheep brains or something?’

‘Leave it, Kier.’ Simon scrunched the tissue with his fist and threw it into the woodland. He stood there, hand crammed into his pocket, staring off in the direction Zoe had come from. ‘I think we should walk a different route today.’

‘No, why should we?’

‘I’m putting you in danger.’ He chuckled. ‘Not the most popular person in this town right now. Dead or alive.’

Simon had disappeared into himself again. Kieren could see the shutters coming down over his eyes, daring him to ask questions. Sod it, he was feeling brave today. ‘Simon, we’ve never talked about why you left the ULA. Or what happened when you disappeared before the Rising anniversary.’

‘No. There’s good reasons for that.’

Kieren reached out and took Simon’s hand. ‘Can we talk about it today?’

Simon’s shoulders sagged, making his duffel coat look even larger than usual. ‘Perhaps. But you might not like what you hear.’

Kieren squeezed his hand. ‘I’m willing to take the chance.’

Simon’s head turned to look at Kieren, a sad smile on his face. ‘I’m not sure I am.’

‘No Mystic Simon today, please. Just the cold hard facts if you will.’

‘Oh God, don’t quote that awful _Hard Graft_ programme. It’s bad enough suffering through it once.’

Hand in hand, they walked down the path. It was always grey at this time of year, with all the trees having shed their summer skin during the autumn season. Kieren loved autumn, all the browns and oranges that filled the sky and the ground he walked upon. Many hours had been spent wandering through the woodland, trying to work out how to make those colours appear on the page. But winter put a stop to all that. Everything was grey or white or black.

‘Is it hard leaving them behind?’ Kieren asked.

‘It was. But I knew what I was gaining. And that was worth it all.’

Kieren felt a lurch of embarrassment. If blood still pumped through his veins then he certainly would have blushed. He, Kieren Walker, was nothing special. _But he took a bullet for you…_

Simon stopped and stared into Kieren’s eyes. ‘And that’s why I don’t want to tell you why I left. Because I might lose you.’

‘That can’t be the only reason. There must be more.’

Simon’s gaze slid off to the side, focusing on a point past Kieren’s left shoulder. ‘There’s more stuff to the story but it’s not very nice.’ He paused then spoke so softly, Kieren wondered if he had misheard him. ‘It could put you in danger.’

Kieren laughed. ‘I’m not that important.’

Simon reached out and touched Kieren’s cheek. ‘You have no idea. I’ve never seen anyone fight off Blue Oblivion before.’

Kieren pulled away from his touch. He tried not to talk about that day. Memories flashed in his head whenever he thought about it. The fear of hurting someone - Mum, Dad, Jem, even Pearl. Hearing Dad’s voice calling him through the blur of the drug. Fighting against that awful hunger that rose inside him. Flying backwards towards the earth and feeling the crush of another person’s body against him. Coming up for air and realising that that person was _Simon_.

‘Probably not that strong a dose.’

Simon shook his head. ‘Dosage doesn’t matter. Putting it straight into your spinal chord…It would have hit your system like a truck. You fought it hard.’

‘Yeah, well having an eversion to drugs doesn’t make me special.’

‘There’s more to it.’ Simon shoved his hands into his pocket and looked down at the ground. ‘Do you know why I came to Roarton?’

‘Yeah, Amy wanted to come home.’

Simon chuckled. ‘Did you ever listen to me when I was delivering a sermon?’

‘Not really. Tried not to pay attention.’

‘Well, if you had paid attention then you would know that Roarton was where the First Risen were rumoured to have come from.’

‘What a load of rubbish!’

‘No,’ said Simon, as he caught Kieren’s eyes and held his gaze. ‘It was not. Is not.’

‘Ok, let’s just say for one moment that it’s actually true. What does it have to do with me?’

‘The Prophet sent me to Roarton to find the First Risen. I thought it would take me so much time. But then you invited me to lunch at your parents’ house. And you told me your Rising story, how no-one else was around…’

Kieren felt his insides lurch. ‘Oh God, you think I’m…what…some sort of Messiah?!’

Simon dropped his gaze. ‘I don’t know anymore. A lot has changed since that day.’

‘Like what?’

‘Us.’

They hadn’t talked about what “Us” had meant to them, not really. Kieren had tentatively dropped the noun “boyfriend” into conversations and Simon barely batted an eyelid. Neither of them had mentioned love.

‘I depend on you for everything,’ Simon continued. ‘Everything. Your family took me in, they’re kind to me, make me feel like I’m wanted. You make me feel like I’m wanted. And yet you never ask anything in return. I don’t deserve it.’

‘Simon, you’ve got to stop this. You’re great. Even when you’re causing trouble.’ He tried to keep the words light, to hide the turmoil that raced around his mind.

‘Aye, that’s me. Trouble maker.’

Kieren’s heart ached as he saw the pain across Simon’s face. He talked little of his life before the Rising. On a grey hillside, he had rolled up his sleeves and shared his scars with Kieren. That was the most he ever eluded to his past. Sometimes Kieren wanted to shake him, make the secrets tumble out, like that photograph of Susan that had disappeared since that day at Amy’s house. He wondered if Simon had ripped it to pieces and left it to scatter on the Yorkshire moors. Or burnt the past away on one of his solitary afternoon walks.

Simon cleared his throat. ‘The Prophet asked me to do something. Before I had no problems doing what He wanted. He took me in when I wasn’t wanted, gave me hope and a purpose. But then He gave me a task I didn’t want to do.’

‘Simon, what did he ask you to do?’

‘A sacrifice had to be made before the Second Rising could take place. The First Risen, to be exact.’

The words slammed into Kieren’s gut. ‘But…but you saved me. That day in the graveyard. You jumped in front of Pearl’s bullet. Why? Why, when that could have done the job for you?’

‘Because when I saw that gun pointed at you, I let my heart take over my head. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running, full pelt, trying to save you. Because I knew that you were too special to die.’

Tears trickled down Kieren’s face. ‘What is that supposed to mean, Simon? Is that some fucked up declaration of love in your world? This…this is mental. I can’t cope with this right now.’ He turned and staggered down the path, anywhere away from Simon.

‘Kieren! Please come back.’ He heard Simon’s heavy boots thump on the path behind him. ‘This is why I couldn’t tell you. Please, stop!’

Kieren sped up. He wanted to put the entire distance of Roarton between them. The wind whipped past his ears, snatched and bit at the skin as he blindly ran through the streets. The hill leading up to the old graveyard loomed in front of him. He needed to speak to Amy. But Amy wasn’t here anymore. Her grave would have to do.

The yellow tape was still swinging in the breeze. Many of the graves remained open, shards of broken wood scattered around the earth. Kieren and Amy had tidied up their graves one day for fun. Not many of the Undead in Roarton had felt the same way and few had returned to their Rising places.

Had Amy known she was going to die? Her gravestone stood out amongst the grey polished stones. Amy had been determined to spray paint purple cats across her epithet but could only find cans of yellow. Now there were maniacally grinning yellow cats splattered across the stone. Pink and white tinsel was wrapped around the top, giving the gravestone a limp crown that danced in the breeze.

The space beside her grave was empty. Thank God - he couldn’t cope with Phillip, not today. Kieren fell to his knees, that sank into the soft earth. He hardly noticed the moisture seeping through his trousers.

‘Oh Amy. Where are you? I need you.’ He laughed through his tears. ‘Come on BDFF. Your assistance is required!’ Kieren let out a bitter bark of laughter. ‘But you’re not here, are you? So I’m going to have to pretend. I’m sorry for taking Simon away from you. That was an awful, shitty thing I did, not telling you. When you guessed….oh God Amy, I’m so very sorry.’ He paused, waited for an answer that he knew would never come. ‘And now, if you forgive me, I’m going to ask your advice. What advice would you give to someone whose boyfriend just admitted they had been ordered to kill them? Properly killing them, not just being pissed off because they didn’t put their pants in the washing basket. This is proper hard core stuff, BDFF.’

Tiredness rushed over Kieren and soaked him to his bones. He slumped onto his side, not noticing the dark stains on his trousers. This time he was well and truly on his own.

After a long time, he got to his feet and staggered down the path. Away from the silliness and the madness. What good was it talking to a person that would never answer? It struck him that’s how his parents must have felt after his death. His reasons for killing himself had never been fully discussed either. Typical Walkers - keeping everything bottled up inside and hoping everything would be alright.

Well, it was not alright. The world had spun off its axis and, this time, Kieren found it hard to recover. Not for the first time, he wished that he was still dead. Lying in the ground in Roarton’s graveyard, his flesh being eaten away to his bones. At least he would have had some peace. A chance to stand still and take everything in as it crashed down around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading :)


	9. Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Wee bit of a delay getting this chapter up but I hope you enjoy reading what's happened so far.

Kieren staggered through the front door and barely registered the greetings shouted from the living room. He ran up the stairs and into their - no _his_ \- room. Empty coat hangers rattled together as he wrenched open the wardrobe door and threw Simon’s clothes onto the bed. Next came his small stash of CDs. Their plastic covers clattered together as he dumped them across Simon’s pathetic collection of jumpers. 

Simon had flattened down his rucksack and shoved it on top of the wardrobe, barely weeks ago. Kieren grabbed one of the straps hanging down and pulled it onto the floor. Everything was a blur as he shoved Simon’s possessions into the battered rucksack. He wanted every trace of him out of the house. 

‘Kieren?’

He swung round to see Sue in the doorway, a frown on her face. ‘What?’ His hands shook as he gripped onto the bag. 

‘Has something happened? Where’s Simon?’ She noticed the half full bag in his hands, the pile of belongings on the bed. ‘Why are you packing up his things?’

‘Don’t want to talk about it, Mum. He isn’t going to live here anymore, that’s all you need to know.’ 

‘Kieren, you’re scaring me.’ Sue took a step into the room. ‘Everything seemed to be fine this morning. What could have changed?’ She walked over to Kieren and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m your mum, love. You can tell me anything. Absolutely anything.’ 

All the anger went out of Kieren and he let the bag slump to the floor. ‘Oh, Mum. It’s all fucked up.’ He saw the slight flinch in her face at the use of the expletive. ‘I don’t know what to do. But…’ He couldn’t use Simon’s name. ‘I know that he can’t stay here anymore.’

‘Here, sit down.’ Sue gently pushed Kieren onto the bed and sat down beside him. She placed a hand over his and give it a small squeeze. The shaking had stopped, thankfully. His mind was too distracted to notice the tremors had occurred twice within 24 hours. 

Sue patted his hand and began to talk. ‘Everyone always talks about how hard the first love is. But it’s the second one that’s the most difficult, I think. With the first you can make those mistakes, have silly fights, hurt each other’s feelings. When it comes to the second one, it feels like you should know better.’ Kieren looked at Sue. Her words were soft but there was a frown on her face. 

‘Mum?’ 

‘I know how you feel, Kier,’ she continued. ‘Your dad was my first love and always will be. But there was a second one and that hurt. So much.’

‘What are you talking about?’ 

Sue shifted on the bed until she sat facing Kieren. She took his hand in both of hers. ‘It was when you and Jem were little. Back then, I felt like I was drowning. Two little ones to deal with. Your dad is not very good at talking about things. And I needed to talk.’ Her eyes dropped to look at the duvet cover. ‘I found someone to talk to. He was kind and let me cry on his shoulder when I felt like I was being a rubbish mum.’ She sniffed and a tear splashed onto her hands. ‘He was married too. Being a small place like Roarton, it didn’t take long before his wife found out.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to hear this? I can stop telling you if you want.’ 

Kieren shook his head, too numb to do anything else but listen to his mother’s confession. ‘No, it’s OK. Finish the story.’ 

Sue let out a quiet laugh. ‘I came in one morning, after dropping you two off at play group, and found your dad sitting at the kitchen table. He had such a frightened look on his face that I thought he had lost his job. He looked up at me and said ‘Something you’d like to tell me, Sue?’ In his hands was a letter, only a page long. There was no stamp on the envelope. And that’s when I knew. The worst part was when he started to cry. He thought…he thought it was all his fault.’ She reached up to her eyes and brushed the tears away. ‘It’s not the anger you need to cope with. It’s making someone you love cry. That hurts so much more, Kier, more than you may know. Things change: children sometimes come along, parents die, new people come into your life and leave just as quickly again.’ She looked back up at Kieren and smiled. ‘What I’m trying to say is that enjoy the time you have with someone. Because you never know when they’ll be snatched away from you. So think about what Simon has done and decide if you can forgive him. I see how happy you make each other. Is it worth throwing it away over something and nothing?’   
Sue stood up and walked over to the door. 

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, Kieren?’

‘What was his name?’

She stiffened. ‘Henry. His name was Henry. They don’t live here anymore.’ She laughed again but this time there was a bitter edge to it. ‘Conveniently a job came up in Bristol not long after his wife sent that letter.’ 

‘Do you still think about him?’

Sue hung her head and rested her hand on the doorway. ‘Yes. But I try not to do it too often. Now, you know where I am if you need me.’ 

Kieren watched as Sue disappeared through the door. He heard the bathroom door close and the low rumble of the water pipes as water flowed from the boiler. 

He flopped back onto the bed; his head buzzing with thoughts. A brief memory came back to him, of when he was four years old and excited about starting school. He remembered Sue crying a lot and Steve taking him and Jem out for lots of day trips. The seaside, the funfair in the next town over, illicit hot chocolates for lunch. 

Sue’s words rolled over and over inside his mind. For the first time in his life, Kieren felt empathy for his father. It must have ripped him apart when he found out about the affair. Even worse that it had turned into love behind his back. Funny that it had taken almost twenty years for it to come out. It seemed like a day for spilling secrets. 

*** 

Simon didn’t come back to the Walkers’ house that night. Kieren had left the rucksack, half packed, sitting in the corner of his bedroom. He sat back against the headboard, staring at the paintings that decorated his walls. When it got too much for him, he turned Simon’s portrait to face the wall. The damaged paper crinkled in his hands and he was careful not to make more tears.   
The sun dipped behind the hills and casted a shadow across the room. Kieren sat watching the day turn to night and felt his automatic breathing reflexes kicking in. 

Gradually he became aware of Jem coming up the stairs and going to bed. The hall light, visible underneath the door, clicked off as Steve and Sue crept past, to their room. 

Only then did Kieren allow himself to roll over and cry himself to sleep. 

***  
Simon stood outside and watched the lights go out in the Walker household. He held a cigarette between his fingers, watched it burn down into a long stem of ash. The Undead couldn’t smoke, working lungs after all were required, and it had been a long time since he held a cigarette. But he craved the comfort that smoking had once given him. There was a tickling sensation in his fingers and he looked down to see the most recent cigarette had burnt down to its nub. That would have burnt a living person. Simon noticed a small dark circle appeared on his pale skin. He pushed the smouldering dout into the palm of his hand and flicked it into the bushes. Hours had gone by and he had managed to make his way through an entire pack of cigarettes. 

It had been a mistake telling Kieren in such a clumsy way. He should have taken him somewhere nice, a place in the woods perhaps, and held him in his arms and showed how much he loved him. Stroked his hair and whispered in his ear how wrong he, Simon, had been and beg for his forgiveness. 

He doubted that he would be welcome back at Kieren’s home. It was typical of him to go and fuck up something as important as this. Staying close to Kieren meant he could have kept him safe. Had the Undead Prophet shared the news of the First Risen with Simon’s previously loyal followers? He doubted it, judging by Zoe’s behaviour, but still that risk was hanging over him.   
Then it was his duty to keep watch over Kieren. Living in his family home the past couple of months meant he knew how close all the Walkers were. Anyone coming after Kieren would have to fight tooth and nail to get past Jem, Steve and Sue. But first, they would have to get past him. 

***

Kieren woke late the next morning. There was a soft knock at his bedroom door. ‘Kieren?’ Steve’s voice floated through the door. ‘Son, it’s time for your shot. Are you up?’

‘Coming Dad.’ Kieren’s voice was croaky this morning. His throat felt raw and his eyes ached from crying in his sleep. 

‘Alright, Kier. I’ll go and get it set up.’ Steve’s slippered feet shuffled down the hall carpet. Good. Kieren needed some headspace before going out to face the family. 

He rubbed his eyes and felt something sticky come off onto his fingers. Black bile coated his fingers. Shit. Better clean that off before he went downstairs. 

Kieren opened his bedroom door and peered down the hallway. He could hear the rest of his family downstairs, having breakfast. Spoons rattled off bowls and quiet chatter floated up the hallway. 

Good. 

He shuffled to the bathroom and ran the cold water tap for a long time. The mirror was level with his head which he kept bowed, staring at the water gushing down the plughole. When his thoughts stilled, he cupped his hands under the running water and threw cold water into his eyes. 

‘ _Jesus Christ_!’ The iciness of the water lashed across his eyelids, sending white slivers of pain throughout his body. Kieren coughed and huffed unneeded breath from his lungs as his shoulders shuddered with the shock. 

Water had never felt that cold before. His hands shook from the shock of it all, beating out a rhythm in time to forgotten echoes of a heartbeat. Kieren looked down at his fingers which had turned an angry shade of red. 

He looked up at the mirror and saw his pale face staring back to him. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he whispered. A flyer printed on cheap paper flashed into his head. Oh God no - he can’t be going rabid. How was that possible? A rule of living in the Walker household was that he had to take his Neurotriptelin every morning, without fail. 

’Stop it. Look, you’re talking to yourself and surely that’s not a sign you’re going rabid.’ He stared into the pale white eyes of the Kieren Walker reflected in the mirror. ‘You are in full control of who you are and what you’re doing.’ It was not an affirmation taught to him by Dr Russo but it was one that Kieren felt more at home with than the stock list of printed out phrases given to him.   
‘I am Kieren Walker and this is something I am happy about.’ This time he half believed what he was saying. 

He descended the stairs with the previous day’s events weighing heavy on his thoughts. His mum had had an affair, he, Kieren Walker, had died from love and been brought back from the dead. Yet everyone still got up every morning in time for breakfast. 

Kieren paused in the living room doorway and watched his family. Jem sat and twirled a murky spoon in her bowl of cornflakes. Dad attacked a plate of bacon and eggs with great gusto. Mum stared at the radio that was permanently tuned to Radio 4 in the mornings. One empty chair sat at the table. Simon’s had been taken away and Kieren was grateful for the small act of kindness. 

‘Are you going to piss about all day or sit down?’ 

Sue snapped out of her trace. ‘Language, Jemina. No need for that at breakfast.’ 

‘But Mum, he’s just standing there!’

‘Lad, come and join us.’ Steve gestured at the empty chair with his fork, half of an egg yolk spiked on it. ‘I’ll finish up here then give you your shot.’ 

Typical Walker household. It was as though Simon had never existed, had never lived here, in this house, shared the space with them. 

Kieren smiled as he crossed the room and pulled out the chair from the table. For once, he was happy they were not a family that talked about anything of worth. 

‘Why do we have to have Radio 4 on in the morning? It’s shit.’ Jem caught Kieren’s eye and winked. He smiled back. Jem’s attempt at trying to cover up Simon’s absence. 

‘Because, madam, I can’t cope with what your generation calls music first thing in the morning!’ Sue’s mouth twitched as she tried to hide a smile. 

Kieren folded his hands in his lap and listened to the pretend fight going on over the breakfast table. It helped to block Simon out of his thoughts - for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading!


	10. Tin Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, apologies for the delayed delivery of this chapter. Real Life has been rather hectic! However things had returned to (some form) of normality and I have more time to continue the story. 
> 
> I have also updated the snazzy Spotify playlist that accompanies this tale. The title, 'Tin Man', is taken from a Future Islands song. Give it a wee listen [here](http://open.spotify.com/user/drusillamac/playlist/4u5NigCUzBZOJ6wiQgobgC).

Simon’s vision swum in and out of focus as he fought to stay awake. Two full days he had stayed hidden in the Walkers’ neighbours garden, only venturing back to Amy’s house to raid his hidden stash of Neurotriptelin. But now the tiredness rolled over him, seeping into his bones and making him crave somewhere to sleep. His old room at Amy’s appeared to be the only suitable option.  
Lack of sleep reminded Simon of feeling stoned. It was more of a natural feeling than the one he gained from having sheep’s brains. Putting one foot in front of the other took a considerable amount of effort. He was aware of passing other people in the street. When he staggered over his feet, humans at the edge of his vision veered out of his way. Simon let out a low laugh as he had flashbacks to staggering around the streets of Manchester, off his face on whatever his dealer had sold him that week. 

Eventually he reached the narrow pathway that would take him back to the bungalow. There he would dare to sleep for a couple of hours before going back to his post. Kieren hadn’t moved from his family home in two days. What else was there to do in Roarton but sit and wait? 

Amy’s keyring rubbed gently against his fingers. The purple cat grinned manically up at him as he shoved the key into the lock. ‘Aye, feck you too,’ he muttered as he staggered into the hallway. The carpet hissed under his feet as he shuffled to his room. 

The sheets on the bed smelt stale from the last time he was here. Throwing himself on the bed, he could smell traces of Kieren left behind on the fabric. Earthy with a sweet hint of decay. Simon buried his face in the pillows and inhaled deeply. 

Eventually his eyelids drifted down and he gave himself over to sleep. 

* * *

Hours later, Simon awoke with a start. The sun was low in the sky. Just how long had he slept for? Unease crept over him as he become aware that the lack of light was not the only reason he had awoke. 

Someone else was in the house. The sense of being watched crept over his skin. If he had been living, goosebumps would have flourished up and down his arms. 

His eyes flicked to the half open doorway. There had been a swish of movement there, he was sure of it. Was it Kieren? 

Hope lifted his body off the bed and propelled him into the living room. 

‘Hello, Simon.’ 

The blonde haired man sitting on Amy’s sofa had aged a little since the last time he saw him. Instead of wearing a white coat, he wore a black waterproof jacket over faded blue jeans. On his feet were scuffed walking boots, that had flaked mud over the carpet. 

‘John.’ Simon forced the name out. ‘Passing by?’ 

‘No, no, this was a planned visit.’ 

‘A holiday?’

John let out a small laugh. ‘Nice to see you still have your wit, Simon. But no, this is not a holiday.’ He gestured to the sagging armchair. ‘Why don’t you have a seat?’ 

‘I’d rather stand.’ Petty but it gave him some power. 

Weston sighed. ‘As you wish. I know we did not part on good terms…’

‘That’s putting it lightly.’ 

‘Please, Simon, let me finish. You helped myself and Victor do some great work. I found it rather upsetting when I heard you had aligned yourself with a terrorist organisation.’ 

‘Your news is out of date, John. I’m no longer a member of the ULA.’ 

‘Really? Now that is intriguing. My sources told me you had climbed the ladder of that organisation rather quickly. That you were entrusted with a special mission.’ 

Years of practice meant Simon could hide his emotions from his face. Coming back from the dead had made it easier. However, he was finding it hard to keep his face from screaming out, _How do you know about it?_

‘You’d be surprised how closely the Centre watches ULA activities. The British government has had good practice in recent history, which I’m sure you’re more than aware of.’ There was a hard edge to Weston. His sympathetic bedside manner had evaporated since Simon had last seen him.

‘You didn’t even say goodbye.’

‘There wasn’t time. I had a lot of work to do.’ 

‘You stopped being nice to me when I told you I didn’t want to be cut open anymore.’

Weston flinched. ‘All research comes with a little pain.’ 

‘Aye, some more than others.’

‘I heard about your friend. I’m sorry.’ 

_Amy._

‘It’s not just the ULA that are interested in Roarton. Some interesting reports have been sent to us.’ Weston spread his hands out in front of him. ‘I have reasons to believe there’s a potent strain of Neurotriptelin making the rounds.’ He looked straight into Simon’s eyes. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that. Would you?’ 

‘No.’ 

On that strange day, after the Future Islands gig, he had dismantled everything and stashed it in the loft. A small lie, as he told Kieren that he threw most of it in the bin. But Simon could not let all that work go to waste. Just knowing he could start on his project again was enough for him. A small addiction that ate away at him each day. Not as strong as the one he had for Kieren Walker though. 

‘Heard you had a new friend.’ Weston’s words were casual but his tone was not. Simon had never been quite sure if Weston’s attention was entirely innocent. Had he been his research project? Or had he wanted more? 

‘I made a lot of friends when I left the Centre.’ 

‘But you were closer to one more than the others. Tell me about Amy Dyer.’

Amy? 

‘She’s dead.’ 

‘But you were close, were you not?’

Simon was confused. Amy was dead and lying in the graveyard up beside the church. She had sometimes talked about her experiences at the Centre but had never mentioned coming into contact with Weston and Halperin. 

‘This is her house. She let me stay here.’ 

‘Strange house for someone so young.’ 

‘Belonged to her gran. She died before the Rising but didn’t change her will. Left everything to Amy.’ 

‘Ah I see. Simon, won’t you sit down? You seem exhausted.’ 

The muscles in Simon’s legs were screaming at him to let them rest. Two days squatting in bushes would do that, even to the Undead. But he would not submit to Weston. He had already done enough of that. 

‘Things have been difficult since Amy…died.’ 

‘You should let someone take care of you. You work so hard to look after others. To make them like you.’

Simon’s fists clenched. Feelings of worthiness had dogged him since school. As a teenager he would spend hours in his room, The Cure on repeat, staring at the mirror and loathing the person looking back at him. Something felt broken inside him and nothing he did seemed to repair it. Reading books, trying to get good marks at school, kissing Susan. All of it left him feeling numb.   
Then the drugs came. A couple of tokes on a joint passed around at a party. The cheap hash mixed with tobacco still left Simon feeling numb but he was OK with that. Lying back on the floor, he let everything wash over him. That was the moment when he decided it didn’t matter, there were plenty of pills and powders and liquids out there that would help him forget. 

John got up from the sagging sofa and walked over to Simon. His hand gently grazed Simon’s cheek. ‘You were always special to me.’ Simon flinched and pulled away from his touch. 

‘No, John. Not this.’

‘What?’ 

‘I’m flattered and all, but I don’t feel that way about you.’ 

Weston laughed. ‘How broken you are, Simon Monroe. Can’t old colleagues show some affection towards each other?’ 

‘Colleague?’ Simon bit down on the word. ‘Colleague? I was your test subject. There was no partnership involved in what we were doing.’ 

‘Working for a better world. It takes a brave man to do that.’ Weston sighed. ‘Today is not a good day for this conversation. I’ll let you rest and we can speak another day.’ 

‘You’re not welcome here, John.’ 

Weston’s pale eyes rested on Simon. ‘That’s a pity, Simon. Hopefully you’ll change your mind over time. Until we meet again.’ Weston’s shoulder brushed past Simon’s as he walked out of the living room. As the front door slammed shut, Simon’s knees buckled underneath him and he fell to the floor. His entire body was convulsing as waves of stress crashed over him. 

Finally the tremors stopped but Simon stayed, lying on the carpet, breathing deeply and trying to return a form of calm to his body. Weston being here was very, very bad news. He could no longer rely on the ULA for protection. 

Simon would need to be his own army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. Bruised Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay between updates (again). Getting used to a new routine and trying to find slot in time to spend on Salvage/Recover/Repeat. Hope you enjoy this instalment ^-^.

‘Oi, mardy arse, are you awake?’ Jem’s boot thudded into Kieren’s bedroom door with such force it bounced off the wall. Kieren was awake but the noise would have definitely woken him up. 

‘Meh.’ He grunted. For the past two days, Jem had attempted to be nice (probably influenced by Sue). She had offered to take him out for a walk (he was too tired), sharpen his pencils (he had his own system) and plan something for Sue’s birthday (which was four months away). Obviously her thin patience had worn through. 

She stood over him, hands on hips. ‘I get it. You and Simon have fallen out and it’s made you feel shit. But lying here, feeling sorry for yourself is not going to help.’ She prodded his thin shoulder through the duvet. ‘So get up.’ 

‘In a minute.’ 

‘No. Now!’ In a flash of a moment, she leaned over and pulled the duvet off him. 

‘Fuck off, Jem!’ 

‘Don’t tell me to fuck off. You’re the one that’s being all emo!’ 

Before he could stop himself, Kieren started laughing. 

‘It’s gorgeous out there. Cold but you won’t feel that. Up!’ Jem pushed Kieren’s boney shoulders with such force it propelled him out of bed, face down onto the rough carpet. 

‘Bloody hell, Jem!’ His words were muffled by the floor. He sat up. ‘Have you been lifting weights?’ 

Jem’s eyes fell to the floor, a laugh caught in her throat. ‘Need strong arms to fire a gun, art boy. And stomach.’ 

Kieren got to his feet and stood beside her. ‘Jem, it’s OK.’ He placed a hand gently on her arm, taking care to make sure her thick jumper protected her from his cold touch. ‘Let’s go out.’ Her eyes rose towards his and he nearly staggered back from the pain shimmering there. 

‘Where to, big bro?’ Her words were light but her voice sounded like it belonged to someone decades older. Kieren remained frozen in youth whilst his sister was moving on, getting older without him. 

He smiled and rubbed her arm. ‘I know just the place.’ 

* * *  
The ground spun up to meet Kieren as he sailed across the tarmac. Each push made the metal chains of the swing wheeze and grunt as he pushed himself closer and closer to the top of the bar.  
‘Not fair!’ panted Jem as she struggled to keep up with him. 

‘I win this one!’ he shouted back over his shoulder. 

Jem’s giggle floated in the air between him and for a moment he closed his eyes and imaged what would have happened if there had been no Rising, no last trip up to the cave, no pain that overwhelmed his body so much that he felt like her would burst. 

Kieren would have been in his early twenties, studying at college or university in Manchester or beyond. Coming home every second weekend to sit through awkward family dinners. Stealing drunken kisses with new friends in dark corners of clubs with sticky floors that sold cheap vodka. 

And Jem? She would be nineteen, just finished sitting her A-levels. Passed her driving test first time. Pretending she didn’t care what she did with her life but secretly wanting to help people. He could imagine her in a green paramedic’s uniform, keeping cool and calm whilst chaos erupted all around her. 

But for now, they were two siblings racing each other on the swings like they did when they were kids. 

‘Kier, stop! You’ll go right over the bar!’

‘Rubbish!’ It might have happened when they were younger, bodies light enough to be propelled across the playground, with a chained metal fence marking the boundaries. But just for a brief second Kieren imagined what it would be like to let go, grab the bars and haul himself over them. Jem had always been the action one, not him. 

‘Hello there.’ 

Kieren’s eyes snapped open. A small man stood beside the swings set, bouncing up and down at the edge of Kieren’s vision as his swing carried him through the air. The man’s face didn’t look familar and Kieren’s heart sank. After the Maxine Martin affair, Roarton had become a strange pilgrimage for scrotters (the living who had a PDS fetish), gossip gatherers and down right nosey bastards. The odd journalist came looking for a story too but they always left disappointed. The villagers of Roarton had no problem airing dirty laundry amongst themselves but they were never keen to speak of it to outsiders. Yorkshire accents became broader, syllables slowed down to convey a slight hint of distain for those asking questions. 

This guy didn’t look like a journalist. His bright smile spread across his face but didn’t quite reach his distant eyes, hands hung limply to his side, fingers spread out from the palm, occasionally trembling. 

Kieren stretched out his legs, letting his feet skid off the shredded tarmack, bringing him to a stop. ‘Do I know you?’ 

The man laughed. ‘Not directly, no.’ He stretched one of those pale hands out towards Kieren. ‘John Weston.’ 

Kieren heard Jem skidding to a stop beside him. ‘From the Centre?’ she squawked. 

‘The very one.’ His hand hung between them. Kieren reached out and gingerly grasped Weston’s hand. He saw Weston flinch slightly at the cold touch of his skin. Obviously it was something that the living would never get used to, no matter how much time they spent with the Undead. How many cold skins had Weston touched? Kieren wondered. 

‘Nice to meet you, Kieren Walker.’

‘How do you know my name?’ 

‘It’s on our files. We keep track of all the PDS patients that have left our care. Like to see how they’re doing.’ 

‘What brings you to Roarton?’ Kieren gripped the chains of his swing , hoping his sporadic tremors would not choose this moment to make an appearance. 

‘Many things. I’m particularly interested in a woman called Amy Dyer.’ 

Kieren heard Jem gasp behind him. ‘She’s dead.’ He bit out the words, hard like apple pips. Those words never sounded like the truth, no matter how many times he had said them. 

‘My condolences. I was aware that Ms Dyer had…passed on.’

‘Some fucking nutter stabbed her!’ Jem blurted out. ‘It’s not like she moved away. She was murdered!’ The chains of the swing clattered against each other as Jem launched herself onto the grass and out of the playground. Kieren could see tears glittering in her eyes as she ran past him. 

His grip on the handles of the swing tightened. ‘We’re all still upset by it.’ 

Weston nodded. ‘I can see that. Perhaps now is a bad time. Here.’ His waterproof jacket rustled underneath his fingers as he patted down the pockets. Eventually he retrieved a business card from the depths of one of his pockets and held it towards Kieren. The sky blue colour clashed against the grey clouds of the winter’s day. 

_Mr John Weston, Consultant, The Revitilisation Project_ was printed on neat black type beside a telephone number and email address. Kieren took the edge of the card and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. ‘I have to go.’ He gestured in the direction that Jem had run in. ‘My sister…she took Amy’s death…we all took it badly.’ 

‘I understand. We’ve all lost someone we’ve cared about. Especially in recent times. Goodbye, Kieren Walker.’ Weston shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the path. Kieren watched him go, a feeling like they had met before pushing at his memories. He had spent a long time at Norfolk. Perhaps he run into Weston in the corridor. He took one last look at Weston’s retreating figure then turned and ran off down the hill, towards Jem. 

The meeting with Weston was pushed out his head as he followed Jem’s figure, bobbing up and down on the horizon. He left out a small huff of laughter as it crossed his mind that he had done a lot of running in the past week, more than he had ever done when he was alive. Cross country running had been something he had endured. There were too many opportunities for the bullies from school to slip under the teacher’s radar and lie in wait for Kieren. 

‘Jem!’ He shouted after her but she kept running, her ponytail bouncing up and down against her back. ‘Jem, you need to stop. You’ll kill yourself.’ 

Jem lurched to a stop, chest heaving up and down as her lungs battled to take in more air. Her legs trembled then collapsed as she let herself sink to the ground. Kieren sent an urgent message to his legs to keep going, just a little bit longer as he caught up with her. 

All the springs inside Jem had collapsed. She wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. 

‘Hey sis.’ He stood, looking down at his little sister, now older than him, who was sobbing into the rough coldness of the stone. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ 

Jem sniffled and raised her head to look up at him. Her tear filled eyes were angry and red; blotchy marks were scattered across her cheeks. ‘You never talk about her.’ 

The words hit Kieren like a bullet to the chest. He rested his hand on the wall to steady himself. The coolness of the stone was not seeping into his skin, not today. ‘Jem, I…’ Words did not come to him easily, not these days. How could he describe all the feelings he associated with Amy’s death that threatened to bubble over and submerge him? Pain. Sadness. Longing. Fear. And guilt. Yes, he must never forget the guilt. No matter how many times he said the word sorry, he had no idea if she heard it. There had been nothing but darkness from when Kieren slid towards death till the stormy night he opened his eyes, blind panic filling his lungs, three weeks later. 

‘When did we stop talking to each other?’ Jem continued. She reached up and brushed a tear running down her cheek. ‘Could never talk to Mum about anything. But there was you, always you. Until…’ She paused, wondering whether to continue. ‘You came back. And I couldn’t talk to you anymore. I was so angry. But you had Amy and that was fine. And now you have Simon.’  
His heart lurched at the mention of Simon’s name. ‘Past tense, Jem. Had.’ 

Suddenly, Jem stood up. ‘Why can’t you tell me what he did? Shit, Kieren, you guys had something good together. Much better than what me and Gary had built on.’ Her eyes rose to meet Kieren’s. ‘All we had in common was killing people.’ She swallowed then, with her voice thick with self loathing, said ‘Killing people like you.’ 

Silence lay between them. Eventually Kieren choked out ‘You did what you had to do. The same as me.’ 

‘Except I kept going, didn’t I?’ 

_Not this again_. ‘Jem, you weren’t in control of your own actions.’ Kieren felt sick parroting the same phrases his counsellor had used on him. ‘You need to forgive yourself.’ 

To his surprised, Jem laughed. She threw back her long dark hair and let it erupt from her stomach. ‘Oh Kieren.’ She whimpered and tried to get her breath back. ‘When did you start repeating the shit that counsellor tells you?’ 

He lightly hit Jem’s sleeve. ‘I have you know that was from my own head.’ 

‘Yeah right. But that counsellor is right about one thing?’ 

‘What?’

She sighed and linked her arm with his. ‘We’re both as fucked as each other.’ 

‘ _They fuck you up, your mum and dad_.’ 

‘Everyone’s parents does. It’s just the special way they have.’ 

Kieren leaned into towards his sister, linking arms, enjoying the shared intimacy they had. She was right - they hardly spoke anymore. He had been so wrapped up in Simon, and their grief over  
Amy, that he had forgotten about the battles Jem was fighting. 

‘I miss her,’ he murmured as the two siblings walked slowly down the path together. 

‘Me too. She was as mad as a box of frogs but she was lovely.’ 

‘You know I think she would take that as a compliment.’ 

‘Kieren?’

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Why was that Weston guy asking about Amy?’ 

His grip on Jem’s arm tightened. ‘I don’t know. Don’t think she ever met him at the Centre.’

‘Did you?’ 

‘Nah, far too many of us for him to care about me. First time I saw him was today.’ 

The two Walkers were so absorbed that they did not see Weston watching them as they walked away, towards home. He took out a small pocket sized notebook and scribbled some quick notes across the white pages. A look of satisfaction spread across his face as he flipped the notebook shut and shoved it into a pocket in his waterproof coat. As he walked down the path, he whistled a quiet little tune. Today had been a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the line _They fuck you up, your mum and dad_ from _This Be The Verse_ by Phillip Larkin. 
> 
> As always, any comments or feedback are welcome.


	12. Follow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK it has been some time since I started writing this fic. But, for some reason, the characters popped into my head the other day and they've asked very nicely for me to continue with their story. It's been over two years but I hope it has been worth waiting for!

_Six months earlier_

_Partially Deceased Treatment Centre  
Norfolk_

John could feel the dim light from the computer screen seeping into his brain. He should have gone to bed hours ago but he kept filtering through the data dancing across his screen. An answer had to be here somewhere amongst all the statistics and numbers and coloured graphs. All the suffering that he had inflicted on others had to mean something. 

“John?” 

He let out a gasp and spun round in his computer chair to see Halperin framed in the doorway. The glow of the computer screen was too weak to reach his face but John knew Halperin was unhappy by the tone of his voice. They had both been working too hard but Halperin found it easier to switch off than John did. The ease he could drop work for a couple of hours playing pool in the staff quarters was a source of envy to John. The good work ethic handed down to his mother by her Protestant forefathers had been instilled in him since the early days of school. No time to play, there was always chores to be done. Dishes to be washed after an evening’s homework and tables to be dusted before bedtime. 

John felt his jaw go slack as he tried to respond. It always took him a little moment to calibrate back to reality after an evening sifting through the results of the day’s work. Halperin left the safety of the hallway and strode over to his work station. “John, it’s almost midnight. I bet you haven’t even had anything to eat yet.” 

“No Victor, I haven’t. There’s still the results from today’s tests to sort through.” 

Halperin let out a snort. “The ones from the power failure this morning? It’s a waste of time. The data will be flawed.” 

“Maybe but perhaps there’s something in there we can build on, look for clues next time…” 

John paused as Halperin slapped down a hand on his shoulder. “Enough. I’m taking you to the canteen. You need some food in you.” 

“I’m not hungry,” he replied as his stomach rumbled loudly. Traitor, he thought. 

“Yes and I believe you. Come on, it won’t do anyone any good if you starve yourself.” 

John signed. He was right. Of course he was. When did he last have something to eat? A dim memory of soggy cornflakes and lukewarm orange juice from earlier in the day surfaced. Sugar and more sugar. He should have crashed by now. 

“Will they still be open?” 

Halperin chucked. “Yes, they will for the almighty John Weston. You might even get a steak if you’re lucky.” 

No steak unfortunately but the lone worker on duty was able to rustle up a small burger patty. The vast canteen, usually loud and noisy with chatter during the day, was eerily quiet. Even the large screens permanently tuned to the 24 hour news channels were on mute. Once John’s burger was ready, the canteen assistant settled down at a table near the kitchen and opened up a pile of study books. 

“Chemistry,” muttered Halperin. “Don’t envy the poor sod. Do you remember those all night study sessions, John? Absolutely nightmare.” 

John swallowed a mouthful of the greyish meat then smiled. “That was you, Victor. I always studied weeks before an exam, not the night before.” 

Victor shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t remember.” 

“Ha! Liar.” 

They sat in silence only broken by John’s chews and the occasional crack of pages turning in a book. The design of the canteen meant it had come with full one sided glass windows. To the outside world the light bounced off the mirrors giving the Centre a sinister outlook. John could see across the wilderness with a distant twinkle of city lights on the horizon. How long had it been since he had left the centre? 

“Six months.” 

“Sorry, what?” 

Victor grinned. “You had that look on your face. The one you get when you think about asking for a day pass. Go on, ask them. Fill out that form. I bet they still say no.” 

“Maybe they don’t. It’s been a while since there was a rabid attack.” 

“True but they haven’t uncovered where that strain of Blue Oblivion is coming from. The bosses are desperate for our lab to get their mitts on it. As if drugs come with an IP address.” He snorted. Victor was ridiculously clever, perhaps a little bit cleverer than John, but he had the one great flaw in that he was far too confident in his own work. John always doubted himself and the results that came back from his tests. Check once, then twice then once again was his motto. 

“There’s something else that has cropped up.” 

John popped the last bite of burger in his mouth and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Do tell.” 

“Someone out there is brewing their own Neurotriptyline.” 

John raised an eyebrow. “That does not sound like a….good idea.” 

Since the programme to release PDS sufferers back into the community, some had fallen through the cracks in the Centre’s records. Each PDS individual had to register with their local medical practice to ensure that they were being dispensed with Neurotriptyline and not disappearing. ‘Going off grid’ is what they started to call it at the Centre and it was happening more often. Social integration had not gone as well as they had hoped. In the early months there were rumours of PDS sufferers being chased out of their homes and even midnight executions in the street. 

“Some of the test samples we’ve had from one area is standing out. A little place called Roarton. One of the off grid PDS has returned back to the town and been registered as part of the Give Back scheme. Thought you might like to see her results.” 

Victor took a manila folder from under his coat and pushed it across the table towards him. John reached out and gently opened it. He quickly flicked through the print outs until he reached the section he was looking for. Now - the readings on that graph. It was highly unusual. “Victor, this can’t be right. It looks like that this..” He flipped the folder over to see the name typed on the front cover. “Amy Dyer is….well alive.” 

He looked up at Victor, expecting to see him laughing and saying “Gotcha!” Instead he looked deathly serious. “I’ve been monitoring Ms Dyer’s stats since they were flagged up to me by a lab technician a couple of months ago. She hasn’t been taking our blend of Neutripline for quite some time yet she’s fine and dandy. In fact, you could say she’s in rude health.”

The burger sat like a lump in John’s stomach. Excitement washed over him as he realised what opportunities lay before him as he tried to absorb the figures printed on the paper below. 

“Oh and while I remember, she knows your old pal Monroe.” 

John’s head snapped up so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. “What?!” 

“Calm yourself, man. He’s got himself lumped in with those idiots - what do they call themselves? - yes, the ULA.” 

“ULA?” 

Victor could hardly keep the laughter out his voice. “Undead Liberation Army. They see themselves as quite the little force against us big baddies. Seems like Monroe has risen up their ranks rather quickly.” Victor tapped his fingers on the table. “Which makes me wonder why they have him posted out in Roarton. It’s not exactly the big hub of the city. He’s originally from Manchester, isn’t he?” 

“Why would I know?” 

“You two were always a bit pally.” Victor’s lips bit down hard on the words. They rarely spoke about that day when yet another power cut had shut down their operations, leaving Simon Monroe in the dark whilst they frantically ran around trying to salvage the data that had been collected so far. When the power came back on, they found Simon still strapped to the table with black blood oozing out of him where he had been struggled against the wrist straps. His mouth hung open and his chest was moving up and down in little quick shallow breaths. Apparently the Undead could still have panic attacks even if they didn’t actually breathe. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

John tried to keep Simon’s pleading voice locked away but sometimes it slipped out when he least expected it. Even now, sitting across from Victor about to embark on yet another Big Discovery the sourness of that memory tainted his work. 

“The training told us to try and find the humanity in PDS sufferers. They are our patients.” 

Victor raised an eyebrow but said nothing. After Simon had left they rarely talked about him or the strange atmosphere that hung in the lab between the three of them. Victor’s usual bravado would leave him and he became strangely absorbed in his work. Almost as though he wanted to finish the experiments as quickly as possible and send Simon back to his locked room. 

“Can we bring this Amy Dyer in?” 

“On it mate. I took the liberty of asking two field agents to drive up there and pick her up.”

“What if she doesn’t want to come?” 

“You don’t work with them often, do you? Trust me, they won’t give her many options.” 

John staggered back to his quarters, numb with the need to sleep. He lay on his bed for a few moments willing sleep to come. Eventually he sat up and opened one of the drawers in his bedside table. Test subject files were not supposed to leave the lab for Data Protection reasons but John reasoned there was an exception in this case. A brass paperclip attached a small passport sized photograph to the inside folder tab. Simon Monroe’s glassy eyes looked back at John’s. He carefully traced a fingernail around Simon’s eyelids, down his cheek and under Simon’s chin. “Where are you, Simon?” whispered John. 

Perhaps Amy Dyer could tell him more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic EVER so any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
